


snapshots

by thespacenico



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Confession, Bombs, College AU, Communication, Cuddling, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, First Day of School, First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship, Getting Together, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Near Death Experiences, Nightmares, Painter Keith, Teacher Lance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2019-11-23 13:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18152270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespacenico/pseuds/thespacenico
Summary: a collection of very short drabbles from tumblr, instagram, and twitter





	1. is that my shirt?

Keith is dying. 

It’s hot, there’s paint all over his hands, his hair keeps slipping loose from the braid that Lance  _ insisted  _ would keep his hair out of his face, the effects of his three earlier cups of coffee are starting to wear off, and Keith is  _ dying.  _

Also, he wouldn’t mind never picking up another paintbrush ever in his entire life. 

He sits back and stares at his canvas, all different swirling colors and hues of blue and indigo and gray. He tilts his head. Blows at a piece of hair that falls into his face. Huffs when it simply falls back into place. 

This was supposed to be easy. It should be easy. The assignment is  _ so easy,  _ so why does he  _ still _ feel like it’s missing something—

Keith jumps in his seat when the door to the studio suddenly flies open, loudly announcing the arrival of his boyfriend. 

“Guess who brought pizza!” Lance sing-songs, tossing his car keys onto a nearby empty workbench and proudly displaying the steaming pizza box held in his other hand. “How’s it coming—”

He freezes suddenly, eyes finally locking on Keith, who is coming to the sudden realization of exactly how much of a mess he must look right now: hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled, paint probably covering every inch of him head to toe—

Lance blinks at him. “Is that my shirt?”

Keith blinks back at him. Glances down at the shirt he’s wearing, which—may or may not have been recently pilfered from Lance’s clean laundry. He winces. “Oh. Yeah, sorry, I should’ve asked before I—” 

“Keith,” Lance sighs, placing the pizza box beside his discarded keys and placing a stern hand on his hip that makes Keith think  _ yes, Lance is going to be a very good teacher one day.  _ “When’s the last time you did your laundry?”

“Uh,” Keith responds, at which Lance just sighs again and finally crosses the room, ignoring Keith’s noise of protest as he plucks the paintbrush right out of his dry, paint-covered hands. 

“So,” Lance starts, setting the brush aside and taking Keith’s hands to pull him up off his stool. “You’re gonna go wash up while I set up Netflix on my laptop, do some laundry, eat some pizza,  _ relax—”  _ he gives Keith a pointed look that he tries very much to ignore, “—and then you can come back and finish your painting, which is going to be beautiful and amazing and perfect like they always are and done in plenty of time before the deadline that you’ve been stressing over for the past two weeks.” 

He tucks the stray piece of hair that’s been the bane of Keith’s existence for the past hour and a half behind his ear, his lips quirking up into a small smile. “Okay?”

Keith bites his lip and glances back at his painting, then looks back when Lance wiggles their hands where they’re still linked in the space between them, fixing him with another stern look. He lets out a long breath. “Okay.” 

He’s pretty sure he’s made the right choice, if the way that Lance beams at him is anything to go by. “Great.” He leans in and places a quick peck on Keith’s cheek, giggling a little as he pulls away. “Now go clean yourself up. You have paint all over your face.” 

(Later, Keith is sure he made the right choice, if the ease with which he finishes his painting is anything to go by. Turns out it wasn’t missing anything at all—he just missed Lance.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.taxashi.tumblr.com)!  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thespacenico/)!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thespacenico)!  
> 


	2. you've shown me what love can feel like

Keith has always been impulsive. 

Sometimes that makes him predictable. Other times, just the opposite. 

If someone asked Lance to describe him, ‘impulsive’ would be at the very top of the list. Impetuous, maybe. Spontaneous, in an insufferable yet simultaneously endearing way. He might say all of these things with a laugh and a shake of his head, although not without his eyes softening and voice going quiet in that fond way it always does.

But this? This is an entirely new level of impulsive. 

This, being the fact that he’s currently bent down on one knee in the middle of their tiled kitchen floor, silver ring held delicately between his fingers while he stares up at Lance—Lance, who’s staring back down at him, blue eyes wide, cheeks flushed, lips pink and held slightly open, morning sunlight melting into his skin, freckles dancing across the bridge of his nose, messy hair still swept every which way from sleep, and looking every bit as beautiful as Keith has always remembered him to be.

He swallows, heart thudding almost painfully against his ribcage and breath trembling in his throat and blood roaring in his ears until he breathes and brings his focus to Lance and Lance only; until suddenly, the world becomes quiet, save for the sound of their would-have-been breakfast sizzling in a pan somewhere in the back of Keith’s current perception. 

A beat of silence passes. Relatively speaking.

“You made me drop our spatula,” Lance blurts, after the relative silence has stretched on for longer than Keith probably should have let it.

Keith opens his mouth. Closes it. “Yeah,” he manages. “Sorry.”

Lance gapes. And then, maybe because he’s just as stunned by Keith’s unmitigated lack of impulse control as Keith is, and doesn’t quite know how to deal with it this time given the context: “What are you doing?”

“Um.” Keith clears his throat. “I think I’m trying to ask you to marry me.” 

“Marry you,” Lance echoes.

Another beat of silence. Some more sizzling. 

“I—I had a plan,” Keith stammers, fighting through the sudden twinge of panic nipping at his stomach. “I was supposed to take you out for dinner at that Thai place you like so much, and then get ice cream from the shop next door and walk across the bridge and watch for shooting stars and then I was gonna propose but—” He forces himself to inhale, feeling a bit breathless as Lance continues to blink down at him. “I couldn’t wait,” he breathes. 

He reaches out to take Lance’s hand hanging frozen at his side, and Lance almost seems to start at the contact, although he allows Keith to hold it there between them. “Maybe it’s selfish, so I’m sorry but—I don’t want to risk you getting away from me somehow.” 

Lance’s fingers curl around the back of Keith’s hand, gently yet firmly, warm and soft. “Keith…” 

“You know better than anyone that it took me some time to learn how to love again,” Keith continues determinedly. “Especially after everything that happened in my past.” Lance’s lower lip is trembling now, but he bites down on it and Keith swallows down his heart trying to climb up his throat. “It took a long time, and you waited for me through all of it. So I guess—” He swallows one more time and takes a steadying breath. “I don’t want to make you wait for me anymore.” 

Lance is beautiful. Even with his brow creased in concentration, expression pinched, and eyes glistening with tears, Lance is beautiful. Keith’s chest aches with certainty. 

“Because I love you,” he murmurs, and Lance squeezes his eyes shut and squeezes his hand and he may as well be squeezing Keith’s heart. Keith slowly moves to stand, brushing away one of the tears that’s slipped down Lance’s cheek with his thumb and leaving his palm there, admiring the way the leftover streak shimmers against his skin. “You’ve shown me what love can feel like,” he says softly, as softly as he can around the lump forming in his throat and through the tightness of his chest. “And I can only hope that I’ve done the same.” 

Lance exhales shakily, leaning into Keith’s touch and clinging tighter still to his hand. He opens his eyes and immediately meets Keith’s gaze, the blue of his eyes mesmerizing in the summer sunlight and making Keith’s breath catch in his throat as if he’s only seeing it for the first time. Lance manages a watery smile, huffing a small laugh as Keith wipes away another tear. 

“So are you gonna ask me now, or are you gonna make me wait some more through a dramatic confession of your undying love for me?”

Keith bites his lip to suppress a smile. “Right now? Should I get back down on one knee, or—” 

“Keith,” Lance groans, and Keith can’t help but laugh as he drops his head to his shoulder with a dull thud, effectively muffling his voice. “Oh my god, you’re killing me here.” 

“Okay, okay. Lance.” Keith wiggles his shoulder and Lance allows himself to lift his head, fixing Keith once more with his gaze. But Keith is ready for it this time, his own gaze steady and unwavering. 

Certain. 

He tightens his grip on Lance’s hand, and straightens his stance, and takes a deep breath. “Lance McClain,” he starts, and Lance’s face breaks out into a smile, bright and beautiful and so overwhelmingly contagious that Keith has no other option than to let himself smile back. “Will you marry me?”  

Lance’s response: he tilts forward, closes the remaining space between them, and kisses him. Keith’s arms instinctively wrap around Lance’s waist to pull him closer, Lance’s wind around Keith’s neck, and warmth blooms in Keith’s chest and sets fire to his nerves and spreads through his body head to toe until he’s dizzy with it. 

They break apart after a moment, breathless, only they don’t go far. Their noses brush together, Lance’s eyes fluttering butterfly kisses against Keith’s cheek. Keith hums. “Are you gonna make me wait for an answer?” 

Lance’s smile grows impossibly wider. “I guess I thought it was obvious,” he murmurs, breath warm on Keith’s lips. “But in case it wasn’t already clear—” He presses another quick, chaste kiss to the corner of Keith’s mouth. 

“Yes.” 

Keith kisses him again. 

Another moment passes, before Lance starts laughing into his mouth and only pulls away long enough to say: “Our breakfast is burning.” 

“Let it burn,” Keith mumbles, and then Lance’s giggles are swallowed by yet another kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.taxashi.tumblr.com)!  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thespacenico/)!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thespacenico)!  
> 


	3. i just wanted to let you know that i think you're beautiful

“Something’s missing,” Adam says.

Keith looks up from where he’s sitting at the table scribbling math calculations across a worksheet, little legs swinging harmlessly in the air. Adam plants his hands on his hips and squints, his gaze sweeping across the living room. Keith watches curiously. 

“Something’s definitely missing,” Adam decides. 

Keith cranes his neck to do his own survey of the room before his eyes settle back on Adam, standing vigilantly at the entrance of the hallway. “I don’t think so.” 

Adam is not convinced. Still, he drags himself out of the hallway and through the living room and replants himself next to the table and reassesses the room. “I think you think wrong.” 

“I think you’re weird.”  

Adam turns to shoot Keith a mock, wounded look, then stops when he sees the unopened package of apple slices lying beside Keith’s homework. “You’re not going to eat your snack?” 

Keith’s mouth turns down and he tucks his hands in his lap and squirms. “I’m not hungry,” he mumbles. 

A short moment of quiet passes as Adam studies him, the clock quietly ticking seconds by from the nearby bookshelf. Keith presses his lips together and keeps his head down as Adam slowly sits in the chair across from him. He drums his fingers on the table once.

“Do you miss him?” he asks softly. 

Keith shrugs.

Adam drums his fingers again. “I miss him too.” He pauses. “Huh. Maybe that’s what’s missing.” 

Keith flicks his pencil across his paper and watches it roll back. “You’re weird.” 

“And yet who’s the single one here, mister?” 

 

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

 

It’s not the first time. 

Takashi gets called away for all sorts of Garrison recruiting events and promotion programs all the time. Normally for just a weekend, sometimes for longer, but not too often. They always seem to manage. 

Key word, being ‘manage.’ As in, sometimes things are—messy. Disorganized, if you will. Sometimes things get lost in communication.

Which is ironic, because it’s Adam’s phone that wakes him up in the middle of the night. And Adam, because his worst fear is that dreaded phone call in the middle of the night during which someone tells him that Keith has snuck off and taken his bike and gotten into some horrible kind of accident, he reaches for his phone and blindly hits answer, pressing the receiver to his ear. 

“Hello?” he says. Croaks, more like. 

_ “Hey, babe!”  _

Adam’s brain is slow to process. He cracks his eyes open and blinks into the dark. “Um… hey?” he echoes.

_ “Sorry I didn’t get the chance to call yesterday. The entire day was booked, you wouldn’t believe the schedule that the Garrison has us on.”  _

Babe. Garrison. Oh. 

“Oh. Yeah. Tight schedule,” Adam gets out, rolling over and propping himself up on his elbow, still slightly—majorly—confused.

_ “Anyway! I’m on a quick break, so I can’t talk much. I hope Keith is doing okay. And, I just wanted to let you know that I think you’re beautiful.”  _

Adam stares into the dark. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Takashi,” he says, or mumbles, or garbles out the best he can after having woken up hardly a minute ago. 

_ “Yes?” _

“Did you forget about the time difference?”

The other side is quiet. Adam can perfectly envision the pinch between Takashi’s eyebrows as he processes his question, followed by widened eyes and red cheeks and a look of pure horror crossing his face.

_ “Uh. What time is it?”  _ he asks tentatively, voice coming out in a squeak. 

“Three.”

_ “...pm?”  _ Takashi adds hopefully.

“You had a fifty-fifty chance and you still guessed wrong.” 

There’s some shuffling on the other end and Adam is pretty sure he hears Takashi swear under his breath.  _ “I—Adam, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking and I completely forgot—” _

“Clearly,” Adam interrupts, doing his best to keep the smile out of his voice. 

Takashi falters.  _ “Uh. Sorry. I—you can go back to sleep now. Sorry, I’ll just—goodnight—”  _

“Whoawhoawhoa,” Adam cuts him off. “Not so fast. I’m already up now, aren’t I?”

He can also perfectly envision the way that Takashi probably opens and closes his mouth several times like a fish before managing to compose himself and speak words.  _ “I—suppose, yes, you are.”  _

“Exactly,” Adam says. He completely rolls over onto his stomach and rests his chin on his pillows. “So. Tell me everything.”

 

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

 

Adam is helping Keith with his geography homework the next day when a thought suddenly strikes him.

He considers the map printed at the top of his worksheet, tapping the end of his glasses on his chin. “What time is it over here?”

Keith grasps the edge of his chair and peers down at the location Adam is pointing at, eyes narrowing slightly while he does some mental math, which is—really endearing. “Three,” he decides eventually, settling back in his seat with the faintest trace of a proud smile on his face. 

Adam taps his chin some more. “Pm?”

“Am,” Keith corrects immediately. 

Adam grins. “Want to call Takashi?” 

“I dunno why you call him that,” Keith mutters, but he’s already eyeing Adam’s phone sitting across the table. 

“Because that’s his name,” Adam huffs, sliding the phone toward him. 

“You’re weird.” 

“Do you want to call Takashi or not?”

Keith doesn’t say anything else after that, until Takashi’s tired voice answers the phone and Keith’s eyes light up and Adam just smiles and listens while he tells Takashi about his day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.taxashi.tumblr.com)!  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thespacenico/)!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thespacenico)!  
> 


	4. don't look at me like that

It always starts out the same way. 

They’re on a mission—get in, get the intel, get out. The security is relatively lax, nothing that Pidge can’t handle, and the place is run almost entirely by sentries, which aren’t exactly the sharpest tools in the shed. This might as well be a practice simulation. 

Only, everything takes an unexpected turn when they discover a prison cell that effectively turns their simple covert operation into a rescue mission. 

Which would have been fine. The team has certainly managed themselves in tougher situations. If they’ve learned anything, it’s how to be quick on their feet. Adapt. 

But of course, Keith just  _ has _ to play the hero. 

Because everyone else is ushering the rescued prisoners onto their Lions, and Keith—Keith is watching, waiting to make sure that they’re all secured and nothing is out of place before—

“I’m going back for the intel,” he announces, the second that everything is in order and the team is gathered near him. “Everyone else, I’ll rendezvous with you back on Arus.”

The implications make Lance’s blood go ice cold, and yet they make his blood boil because— _ Keith is leaving again. _

And then he has the audacity to turn to Lance and say, face close to expressionless: “Lance, you’re in charge. Lead the team to safety.”

Lance’s ears are practically ringing as everyone begins returning to their respective Lions, everything happening in slow motion around him and his direct line of vision, where Keith is already turning away—

“Wh—hey, wait—” He suddenly finds himself two steps forward, without remembering ever even taking them.  _ “Keith,  _ where are you going?”

Keith stops only long enough to spare a passing glance over his shoulder. “I just said I’m going back for the intel. I’ll catch up soon, just—”

Lance doesn’t quite know what exactly comes over him. “No.”

A tense pause, and then Keith is turning to fully face him, eyes darkened and expression stormy underneath his furrowed brow. “No?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Lance snaps, tightening his grip on his helmet held close to his side. “It’s one thing to infiltrate this base with an entire team of people, but with just one of us—”

“I can handle it,” Keith says slowly. Warningly. It leaves a bitter taste in Lance’s mouth. 

“You really want to take that chance?"

“Lance.” Keith’s voice changes. It’s hardened, but that only serves to make it clear that there’s something hiding there under the surface. “I’m asking you to stay here.”

“And my answer is  _ no,”  _ Lance insists, with as much finality as he can muster. “I’m coming with you.”

Keith’s gaze flickers, and something that looks almost like—worry, maybe, or concern—flashes briefly across his face, gone as quick as it had come. “No, you’re not.”

“It’s not a request, Keith.”

Keith presses his lips together. “I need you here to lead the team—”

_ “Shiro  _ can lead the team,” Lance scowls. “He’s plenty capable, something of which you’re perfectly aware.”

Something of which Keith chooses to ignore anyway. “I’m not asking you again.”

“Fine by me.”

Keith’s eyes are burning, with what Lance can’t place. “Lance, I don’t have time to argue with you about this. Just—keep them safe, alright?”

“And what about you?” Lance shoots back.

But Keith is turning away again, evidently finished with this conversation, but Lance—Lance is  _ not  _ finished. And before he can stop himself, he’s reaching forward and grabbing Keith’s wrist on its backward swing. “Keith.” 

Keith freezes mid-step, and turns slowly to look down at where Lance’s fingers are curled around him. And when he finally drags his gaze up to Lance’s face, Lance has to force himself not to physically melt from its searing intensity, all deep violet hues and flecks of blue like starlight in a swirling nebula.

Lance loosens his grip, but he doesn’t let go. He takes a deep breath to keep himself steady.

“I’m not watching you walk away again.”

That does it, for whatever reason that Lance doesn’t exactly have time to think about right now. Finds the crack in Keith’s defenses and wedges itself in further and further and forces the gap wider and wider until it all comes crumbling down and all that’s left is—Keith. 

Not the flunked out Garrison fighter pilot, not the half-Galra, not the BOM member, not the black paladin, not even the red paladin—just, Keith.

Because his shoulders deflate, and he relaxes in Lance’s hold, and his eyes soften almost imperceptibly but undeniably and it takes all of Lance’s strength not to physically collapse at the sight of it. When he speaks again, his voice is low, rough, deep and vibrating in Lance’s chest, full of the same unnamed something that’s been making its home in Lance’s heart for a long time coming.

“I’ll come back, Lance. You don’t need to worry about me.” 

Lance lets out a breath. “Keith, we’re a  _ team.  _ It’s literally my job to worry about you.” Keith glances down again at where Lance won’t let go of him. “We’re supposed to have each other’s backs,” Lance adds quickly, all in one rush of a breath, not even bothering to try to hide the desperation in his voice anymore. “You have my back, I have yours. That’s how it’s supposed to work, right?”

Keith lifts his gaze again, and licks his lips and opens his mouth as if to respond, but nothing comes out.

“Right?” Lance repeats firmly.

A pause. Lance wonders why Keith hasn’t made him let go yet. Their eyes meet— _ really  _ meet—and he’s struck again by the fiery determination in Keith’s eyes that makes his throat go dry. 

“Right,” Keith echoes finally, quietly, just for them to hear. 

Lance’s heart sighs with relief. He slowly releases his hold on Keith’s wrist but doesn’t go far. “So?” he prompts. 

Keith seems to study him for another moment, and then he leans slightly to the side to signal Shiro, who’s waiting patiently from the ramp of the Black Lion. He nods in acknowledgment, and smiles, the way he does when he’s proud, and then disappears into the cockpit. 

Lance shoves his helmet over his head and feels the familiar rush of adrenaline as his rifle materializes perfectly in his grasp. “What’s the plan, team leader?” 

“Partner,” Keith amends, and warmth blooms in Lance’s chest and shoots through his body from head to toe as Keith’s sword materializes in his own hand and he smiles that signature Keith—not paladin of Voltron—smirk. 

“Let’s go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.taxashi.tumblr.com)!  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thespacenico/)!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thespacenico)!  
> 


	5. you're safe now

War means sacrifice. 

But it doesn’t always specify what kind. 

Because even if the paladins of Voltron had been more or less dragged into an intergalactic space war against their will with no choice other than to fight, they still understood the risks. 

That doesn’t mean they ever envisioned having to deal with the consequences. 

Everything that had even the slightest chance of going wrong has done exactly that. 

Gone wrong.

Including, but not limited to: the team has been separated, Keith’s comms aren’t working, his Lion is out of commission, he doesn’t know where he is other than smack dab in the middle of hostile territory surrounded by sentries, and Lance—

“C’mon,” Keith pants, hands clasped against Lance’s chest, the growing panic and desperation in his chest threatening to claw his throat apart with every compression, each one harder than the next. “C’mon,  _ c’mon,—” _

He counts to thirty. Moves back to Lance’s mouth, where his unusually pale cheeks are already wet and clammy from Keith’s tears. Pulls away after two breaths and returns to his chest even though he  _ knows  _ there’s no use, Lance’s eyes are still closed, Lance still isn’t breathing, it’s been too long—

Lance is gone. 

“No,” Keith whispers, face sticky with tears, and sweat, and blood he’s not sure is even his. Distantly he hears the sound of shoulders slamming and weapons firing against what’s left of the barricade. “No, no—Lance, stay with me.”

He tries two more breaths, and sits back on his feet and searches frantically for any sign of life, feeling for Lance’s pulse, listening for his heartbeat, checking his face. 

The barricade shakes violently from behind him. 

He’s running out of time. 

“Lance, wake up,” Keith mumbles, far past the point of tears—now he’s just cold, and numb, and maybe it’s from shock or the wound throbbing in his own side but it doesn’t matter now. “Don’t make me leave you. I’m not leaving you.”

Lance lies unresponsive before him, the chest plate of his armor tossed aside, under suit soaked with blood where he’d taken a hit. A hit that should’ve hit Keith, had he not shoved him out of the way at the last second. 

A particularly loud blast, and the barricade shudders again, hardly seconds away from collapsing entirely. 

Keith leans forward and takes Lance’s face in his hands. Even without direct contact, he can still feel the last of Lance’s warmth seeping through the thin material covering his fingers. 

“Lance,” he breathes out. The heat building behind his eyes returns, and he doesn’t fight it. “You can’t leave now. You can’t— _ please,  _ Lance.” He squeezes his eyes shut and leans down, pressing their foreheads together, letting out a single, choked sob.

“You can’t leave me.”

_ “Keith.” _

The barricade finally bursts and the room floods with sentries, weapons raised to fire. Keith doesn’t move. 

_ “Keith? Hey, wake up.” _

A tear rolls down Keith’s cheek and drops onto Lance’s as Keith gathers Lance’s lifeless body into his arms, and then the sentries are on them.

_ “Keith, wake up—” _

Keith lurches awake with half a gasp that catches in his throat. His shirt is soaked with sweat, his face is streaked with tears, his skin is clammy and his knuckles are white from clutching the bedsheets, and for a brief moment he panics because it’s dark and it’s hot and it’s too hard to breathe—

A quiet  _ click,  _ and the bedside lamp is being switched on to illuminate the same bedroom that he’d fallen asleep in—not the control room of a hostile base swarming with sentries. And yet the familiarity of it does nothing to soothe Keith’s nerves. 

Because there, sitting up beside him, eyes wide and brow pinched with concern, and one hand firm and steadying on Keith’s shoulder, is Lance. 

_ Lance.  _ Alive. Not lying blood-soaked and motionless on a cold metal floor.

He can’t even bring himself to be relieved. Everything is still too fresh in his mind. 

Lance seems to sense that, because he shifts in place to face him better, hand never leaving his shoulder. “Hey, it’s alright,” he says softly, and the sound of his voice alone is almost enough to bring Keith back to the verge of tears. “You were just having a bad dream.” 

Keith is only half-listening, mind reeling and hands shaking as he slowly reaches up to rest them on either side of Lance’s face, still trying to catch his breath as he stares at him.

Warm. Breathing.  _ Alive.  _

Lance’s brows pull together as he stares back, confused, and he gently places his free hand over Keith’s wrist. “Keith?”

His skin is warm, his heart is beating, his pulse is strong and he’s alive and he’s  _ here. _

Keith’s breath catches again, tears prickling the corners of his eyes. “Lance.” 

And then Lance is pulling him close, arms winding carefully but securely around his shoulders as Keith clings to him.

“Shh, hey, it’s okay,” Lance says softly, soothingly, brushing his fingers through Keith’s hair and up and down the length of his back. “You’re okay.” 

“You’re okay,” Keith echoes in a whisper, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching at the fabric of Lance’s shirt.

And it’s like Lance can hear Keith’s thoughts, despite having no clue what he was dreaming about in the first place. “You’re safe now,” he murmurs. “Just breathe.” 

Keith shivers, and buries his face in the crook of Lance’s neck, and breathes. 

_ Lance is safe.  _

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, although he’s not even sure what he’s apologizing for. “I’m sorry, Lance—”

“Hush, sweetheart, none of that.” Lance disentangles himself from Keith’s grasp and pulls back but stays close, one hand still on his shoulder, the other raised to wipe Keith’s tears away with his thumb. He brushes the hair out of Keith’s face and offers a small, reassuring smile. “Why don’t you take a shower,” he says quietly. “Okay? And I’ll make us some tea.” 

Keith manages to swallow down the lump in his throat and nod, not quite trusting himself to speak anymore. So they climb out of bed, and Lance stays long enough to help Keith out of his sweat-soaked shirt and press a kiss to his forehead before slipping out of the room to give him some privacy. 

The hot spray of the shower only does so much to relieve the tension in Keith’s muscles. He can’t seem to shake the remaining images of the nightmare from his mind, flashing relentlessly behind his eyelids every time he closes his eyes. Needless to say, he doesn’t stay long, toweling his hair off and stumbling back into the bedroom to slip into the fresh clothes Lance must have left out for him (including a pair of shorts, and the oversized sweater of Lance’s that he knows Keith likes to steal because no matter how many times it goes through the washer, it still smells like Lance). 

Lance is in the kitchen when Keith comes out, humming softly while he waits for the water to boil. Keith stands silently in the doorway for a moment, watching as he moves about the kitchen, pulling two mugs out of the cabinets and rummaging through their small selection of tea flavors for their favorites. 

Appreciating.

He still hasn’t moved by the time Lance finally spots him. A pang of guilt shoots through his chest at the look of relief that flickers across Lance’s face, but it quickly melts into an easy smile as he comes to meet him, taking Keith’s hand and giving it a careful squeeze before wordlessly leading him into the living room and sitting him down on the couch.

Another kiss, on the cheek this time, and Lance slips back into the kitchen to finish making their tea. 

Keith watches him the entire time.

And he knows he’s making Lance worry, from the way he keeps shooting quick glances over the counter as if to make sure Keith is still there on the couch and attempting reassuring smiles that only go halfway, but Keith—can’t help it. He can’t stop staring. He just wants to look, and look and look until the images of Lance’s bedhead and sloping freckled shoulders and and rise and fall of his chest are permanently implanted into his brain.

A moment later, Lance returns to the living room with a mug of hot tea in each hand and a small smile that Keith would look at forever if he had the time. He’s faintly aware of Lance placing one of the mugs into his hands, and sitting down beside him with his legs tucked underneath himself as he gets settled, chuckling to himself.

“Babe, I know you think I’m pretty, but is there some other reason you can’t seem to stop looking at me?” 

It’s light, and teasing, but Keith can see the quiet concern etched into his features. Because he’s still smiling, but his gaze is searching, looking for answers in that way it does that’s just short of prying, but urgent all the same.

Keith blinks, and finally manages to tear his eyes away to look down at the steaming cup of tea in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. 

Lance reaches out and tugs one of Keith’s hands into his own, resting them on his knee. “You don’t have to be,” he murmurs. He pauses, tracing a circle across the back of Keith’s hand. “You know I’m here for you, right?” 

Keith bites his lip and blinks back the heat building again behind his eyes.  _ I’m here.  _ He nods slowly. 

It’s quiet for a few beats, and then: “Do you need to talk about it?” Lance asks softly. 

Does he want to? No, not especially. But does he need to? 

Keith closes his eyes, takes a deep, shaky breath, and squeezes Lance’s hand. 

“Yeah. I do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.taxashi.tumblr.com)!  
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	6. just say so

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of reflection on their friendship

Space is lonely. 

It’s ironic, really; that drifting through the vast expanse of stars and moons and nebulas makes one feel even more alone than if they were anchored on a single planet in a single solar system in a single galaxy among millions, billions, or maybe even trillions.

Individually, the team has learned this the hard way: Shiro, when he had to choose between his lifelong dream and the person he loved most. Pidge, when she left behind the only family she had left in search of the rest, in hopes of reuniting them all. Hunk, when he unwillingly abandoned everything he’d been working so hard toward for so many years. Keith, when he was torn away from the only place he had ever truly known as home. 

Lance, when he was forced to up and leave all of that and more at a second’s notice: his home, his dream, his family. 

They all experience homesickness to an extent throughout their travels in space, but none like Lance. The entire team can see it in his shoulders, the way they stiffen at the mention of Earth, or home. They see it in the bags under his eyes despite his strict adherence to a stringent skin care routine, from sleepless nights lying awake and missing what’s beyond his reach. They see it in his wistful gaze, at the end of missions to liberate planets when families reunite and hold one another close.

But Keith--Keith sees it in his silence. 

Keith sees it in strained smiles and half-hearted laughter, in excessive jokes and self-initiated bickering between the two of them, in the faraway look in his eyes during mission briefings and the near-instantaneous shift from being seemingly cheerful to irritable. 

For someone who loves to talk, Lance is really good at not talking. 

And for someone who doesn’t talk much by nature, Keith is—not great at talking. 

So when he finds Lance sitting on the observation deck one night after dinner, knees tucked close and head resting back against the wall that stretches up and around the enormous tract of glass separating the safety of the inside from the chaos of space, his first instinct is to turn around and walk right out. 

Hunk or Pidge would be much better equipped for the current situation. Then again, between the coalition efforts and whatever latest gadget they’ve been tinkering around with, they haven’t much made themselves available. 

Which is how Keith finds himself standing a few lengths away from where Lance sits on the floor, his curled up figure outlined by the endless plain of stars beyond. Lance makes no sign of acknowledgment when Keith lowers himself to the ground about an arm’s length away, but keeps his face to the sky--if it can even be called that from this perspective.

Keith is content to sit in the silence for a moment, before he works up the nerve to speak. “You weren’t at dinner.” 

Lance hardly even blinks, arms folded over his knees. “Great observation, mullet,” he mutters, but there’s not much heat behind it. If anything, he just sounds--tired. 

Keith taps his fingers against his boots. “The team is worried about you.” 

No response this time. Keith lets another moment stretch into silence, and then tilts his head slightly to look at him out the corner of his eye. 

“Everything okay?” 

Lance huffs something that might supposed to be a laugh, but there’s a bitter undertone to it that has Keith frowning. “Yep,” Lance answers, popping the ‘p’ with a bit too much emphasis. “Everything’s great. Peachy, even.” 

Keith turns his head fully to face him then, brows pulled together. “You’re not yourself.” 

Lance actually snorts this time. “Yeah? How would you know?” 

That hurts, for some reason Keith would rather not dwell on right now. Sure, he and Lance haven’t always been on the best terms. But he’d thought, at the very least, that maybe they were starting to become friends.

Evidently Lance doesn’t feel the same way.

“Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Lance says, voice dripping with sarcasm that makes Keith’s fists clench in his lap. “Maybe because nothing’s wrong--”

“If you don’t want to talk about it then just say so,” Keith snaps, and Lance finally turns away from the glass to look at him, eyes widening slightly. “But don’t lie and pretend to be fine when you clearly aren’t.”

Lance seems to flounder for a moment, taken aback by the sudden outburst, but then his gaze hardens and he clambers to his feet with his fists clenched at his sides. “Fine!” he shoots back, glaring as Keith stands to match him. “ _ Fine,  _ Keith. Then I  _ don’t want to talk about it.  _ So just lay off, will you? Why the hell do you even care?” 

Keith’s brain catches up to his words too slow, because they come tumbling out of Keith’s mouth before he has the chance to stop them. “Because I care about  _ you,  _ you idiot!” 

The room plunges back into silence, both glaring, neither of them willing to back down--until they finally process the words hanging in the air between them. Keith freezes, and Lance blinks, lips parted in surprise and brow furrowed like he’s not quite sure he heard correctly. 

Even if Keith hadn’t exactly meant to say it, that hurts a little bit too--that Lance is questioning something like that at all.

But before Keith has the chance to regain his bearings, Lance is shutting his eyes with a sigh and pressing back against the wall, sliding back down to the floor and pushing a hand through his hair. “You don’t mean that,” he mumbles. 

Keith stares at him, incredulous. “Wh--are you--how would  _ you  _ know?” he stammers out. 

Lance keeps quiet, lips pressed together and eyes closed. Keith lets out a breath, frustrated with how shaky it sounds. 

“Forget it,” he mutters, and then he turns and exits the room without another word. 

He misses the way that Lance watches him go.

 

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

 

Keith has just hung up his jacket in his room later that night when there’s a timid knock on his door. A brief pause, and then it slides open to reveal Lance, holding his arm against his side and looking, dare Keith say it, just a little bit sheepish. 

“Hey, man,” he starts, eyes trained on the floor. “Um…” Keith watches him as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. And then he takes a deep breath and peers cautiously up at Keith. “Can we talk?”

Any other day, Keith might give him a hard time; he thinks Lance has probably had enough of those already. Lance blinks at him as he steps aside. “All you had to do was ask,” he says softly. 

And Lance smiles, small and yet the most genuine that Keith has seen in weeks.

“Thanks, Keith.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.taxashi.tumblr.com)!  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thespacenico/)!  
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> 


	7. i'm sure if you're sure

The only explanation for how Keith and Lance found themselves in their current situation, is that the universe really has it out for them.

More specifically, they’re parked on a foreign planet, with no means of outside communication, in a room with a ticking bomb that in two doboshes is going to explode and wipe out half of the planet’s population, Lance and Keith included. 

Also, they have absolutely no idea what they’re doing.

“It just had to be us,” Lance grumbles, crouched down beside Keith and jabbing at the schematics displayed by his gauntlet. “We just _had_ to be the ones who got stuck on a planet awaiting impending doom--and of course it had to be a bomb, and _of course_ we had to be the ones who got stuck with it instead of someone like Hunk or Pidge, or even Coran--”

“Lance,” Keith interrupts, jaw clenched as he hunches over the jumbled mess of strange wires and devices, each one looking even more alien than the last as his eyes sweep over them. “Stop complaining about impending doom and help me figure out how to  _ stop  _ said impending doom.”

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you!” Lance cries, shoving the display into his face. “None of this makes any sense!” 

Keith scowls, shoving his arm away. “Then make it make sense!”

_ “That doesn’t even make any sense!”  _

_ “Lance,” _ Keith groans exasperatedly. Another tick goes by. Keith hates ticks, now that he thinks about it. They’re literally just a slow-motion version of seconds and he  _ really  _ doesn’t appreciate them right now when they’re making  _ him  _ feel like  _ he’s _ moving in slow-motion.

“Well--Keith, I’m trying, okay?” Keith looks up when Lance’s voice wavers a little, startled by the sudden lapse in his usual confident, self-assured veneer. His expression is pinched, eyes darting nervously around the visual display. “This isn’t my thing, I don’t--I have no idea what I’m doing here.”

Keith doesn’t like the way he keeps saying  _ I.  _ As if any part of this scenario is his fault, and his fault only. It’s not like either of them had been expecting to have their lives so directly threatened today.

One hundred thirty ticks. One hundred twenty-nine. 

Keith shuts his eyes and lets out a breath. “Alright, look. We’re both scared and frustrated, and--okay, so maybe we don’t have the same expertise that Hunk and Pidge do, but at least we have each other.” His heart skips a beat or two when he opens his eyes to see Lance staring at him, looking a little wide-eyed and--yeah, a little scared. He clears his throat. “We’ll figure this out.”

Lance licks his lip, inhaling deeply and giving a short nod before he exhales. “Okay. Okay, yeah. We can do this.” His gaze returns to the display, brow set with a new determination as he pinches the screen to get a better look. “I think I remember some stuff from when they offered a training session with the bomb squad at the Garrison.”

“Good,” Keith nods. “Just tell me what to do.” 

_ One hundred eight ticks. _

Lance chews on his lip as he navigates the schematics, tapping the screen to enlarge one portion. “Okay, uh--there should be a green wire connected to a black box, behind that bundle of red wires.”

Keith locates said green wire, careful not to touch anything as he searches. “Got it.” 

“I think you can cut that one.” 

Keith glances over at him, blade held at the ready. “You’re sure?” 

Lance’s face twists into something uncertain, nose wrinkled slightly and mouth dipping into a frown. “I mean--maybe? I just--Keith, I just don’t know--”

“Lance.” Lance winces, but his eyes flick over to Keith, who levels him with the most sincere gaze he can manage. “I trust you. If you think I should cut it, I’ll cut it. Just say the word.” 

_ One hundred ticks. _

Something flickers briefly across Lance’s face, followed by the set of his jaw and one more look over the schematics. He takes a deep breath. “Do it.” 

He watches apprehensively as Keith delicately positions the tip of his blade against the specified wire, lips pressed together in concentration. And then, before he can talk himself out of it, he squeezes his eyes shut and cuts it.

_ Snap. _

A single tick goes by. And a second. Nothing happens.

They both let out an enormous breath of relief. Keith hadn’t even noticed Lance’s fingers clamped around his bicep until he’s let go, dropping his head into his hand. “Oh my god,” he breathes. “Can we please never do that again.” 

“Next wire,” Keith replies, shifting his weight to sit back on his feet.

Lance groans, but he obediently lifts his head and swipes his fingers back across the display to plan their next step.

It becomes a sort of process, then. Identify a wire, cut the wire, hold their breath while they wait for a tick or two and pray to whatever intergalactic being is out there that they aren’t about to be blown into pieces. Keith’s muscles ache with unreleased tension, and every few ticks he has to reach up to wipe beads of sweat from his forehead. The pressure is suffocating.

“Okay.” Lance is glaring at his screen, one finger hovering over the portion he’s just enlarged. “Okay, I think--it’s just down to these two wires right here.”

_ Seventy-one ticks. _

Keith shuffles over to make room for Lance as he peeks into the fray, comparing Keith’s mess of wires with the schematics. He makes a small noise of frustration, tapping again at the screen. “Which one?” Keith presses.

“I guess--” Lance hesitates.  _ Sixty-seven ticks.  _

“Lance,” Keith urges again, and Lance runs a hand through his hair.

“Okay, I--that black one right there,” he says, closing out his display and pointing cautiously. “But--god, Keith, if I’m wrong--”

“Trust your instincts,” Keith interrupts, twisting the blade in his hand restlessly. “They’re always right.”

Lance scoffs. “Are they?”

_ “Yes,”  _ Keith insists, exasperated. “How do you think we got this far?”

“Luck?” 

“I’m cutting the black one,” Keith announces, leaning forward to do exactly that.

“Wait!” Lance’s hand shoots back out to clutch at Keith’s arm, his fingers digging almost painfully against his armor. “Are you sure?” 

Keith turns his head just enough to lock eyes with Lance, tightening his grip on the hilt of his blade. “I’m sure if you’re sure.” 

Lance’s eyes are blue, and searching, and for a moment Keith lets himself be distracted by the way the shades of color seem to shift and morph in the light, until they come together into something certain. Lance bites his lip and nods, once. “I’m sure.” 

_ Sixty-one ticks. _

Keith cuts the wire without a second thought.

Lance’s breath hitches and Keith feels every muscle in his body go taut, both of them waiting, waiting,  _ waiting-- _

Nothing.

They relax.

The timer that’s stopped at exactly sixty ticks flickers, and blinks, and goes blank--and flashes back to life to start counting down from twenty ticks.

“Keith!” Lance shrieks, at the same moment that Keith lets out a string of swear words. “Look what you did!” 

“Me?” Keith snaps. “You’re the one who told me to cut it!”

“You told me to trust my instincts!”

“Because I thought they’d be right!”

“Oh my god!” Lance barks out a laugh that sounds borderline hysterical, shooting to his feet and stumbling back a few steps. “That’s it. We’re dead! We’re dead, the Antheans are dead, half the planet is dead--”

Keith pushes himself up to mirror Lance, discarding his blade on the floor. “We don’t have time to panic, Lance--”

“What else is there to do!” Lance cries, arms flailing.

“Lance!” 

“Keith,  _ stop,”  _ Lance pleads, voice shrill. “Just--stop saying my name, I can’t deal with that right now--”

“What does me saying your name have to do with anything?”

_ Ten ticks. _

“Because you--it just--it’s stressing me out!”

_ “That’s  _ what’s stressing you out about this situation?” Keith asks incredulously.

“Keith,” Lance gasps, grabbing his shoulder, eyes wide. 

Keith glances over his shoulder at the bomb, the same panic that’s been so evident in Lance’s voice swelling in his chest and rushing into his lungs when his eyes land on the countdown.

_ Five ticks. _

He looks back at Lance, eyes wide, brown curls sticking to his forehead, freckles dancing across his cheeks--

_ Three, two-- _

“Lance,” he chokes out, and then takes his face in his hands and surges forward and kisses him.

It’s awkward. Their noses bump, and Lance has to latch onto Keith’s elbows to keep them both from toppling over, and Keith sort of misses his mouth and gets the corner of it instead. But hey, if Keith is going to die today… well. At least he’ll die kissing Lance.

Lance, who is suddenly--kissing back. Lance, who almost immediately parts his lips in answer, tilting his head to fix their angle and moving his jaw in a way that makes Keith’s knees weak. Lance, whose hand is clinging to his shoulder and fingers tangling in his hair to cradle the back of his head and press him closer, closer, closer--Keith’s breath stutters, and Lance sighs into his mouth, and Keith is starting to wonder why the hell it took them this long when they both seem to remember that, hypothetically, neither of them should still be standing right now.

Their movements slow, and at last they break apart but they don’t let go of each other. Lance’s eyes remain closed for another beat, lips pink and swollen, before they open once more and Keith’s heart almost stops at the sight of them. The room is suddenly unbearably quiet, and still, as Keith tries to ground himself.

“It--” his breath catches. He swallows, cheeks burning. “It didn’t go off.” 

“Guess not,” Lance responds, voice husky, eyes never leaving Keith’s.

They’re silent, for a moment that seems to stretch out into an eternity in the mere inches of space between them. Keith can’t stand it. He grips the collar of Lance’s armor and tries to breathe.

_ “Lance,” _ he whispers, and Lance sighs again and Keith’s heart trips when he drags him back in for another kiss, this one even more searing and desperate than the last like they can’t possibly get close enough to satisfy the aching relief at the fact that they’re both still alive, and here, and together.

The bomb might not have gone off, but Keith can’t help but feel like  _ something  _ did. Because the bomb didn’t go off, but Keith is burning, burningburningburning and hot all over like he’s going up in flames and yet all he wants to bring himself closer to the source of them. He’s sure his heart must still be beating and his muscles probably still ache but all he can feel--all he wants to feel--is Lance.

Lance reciprocates the sentiment, hands cupping the sides of his face and sliding his fingers through his hair, each of them chasing the other every time one of them involuntarily pulls back because their bodies are trying to remind them to  _ breathe. _

And when Lance sighs Keith’s name, Keith swears his knees would have completely given out if Lance hadn’t already been there to steady him, because it’s all so overwhelmingly--everything is so--Lance is so overwhelming and Keith is dizzy with relief, and the adrenaline pumping through his veins and the need to be as close as he can.

At some point it becomes less desperate and more careful, each kiss growing softer, movements gentler. Their lips brush together, and Lance’s lashes flutter against his cheek and it sends shivers down Keith’s spine. And instead of chasing, they’re following, until they’ve slowed once more and what’s left is a slow, lingering kiss that Keith does his absolute best to memorize.

They pull apart. They still cling to one another, faces only an inch apart as they stare at one another. Keith realizes, belatedly, just how fast his heart is beating. Lance’s brow creases.

“How the quiznak are we gonna explain this to the team,” he mutters, and the way he says it is so genuinely concerned and out of place that Keith can’t stop the small laugh that bubbles out of his chest.

“I wasn’t thinking that far ahead.” 

“Clearly.” 

They’re both smiling now, high off the feeling of being alive and together and suddenly Keith has never been so pleased with the outcome of a near-death experience. 

Lance blinks, and then clears his throat and drops his hands to Keith’s arms. “We should--we need to get back to our Lions and try to contact the team. And, you know, assure Mr. King of Anthea Dude of his planet’s safety and all that stuff.”

“Oh.” Keith blinks back. He drops his hands to his sides and stumbles back half a step out of Lance’s grasp. “Yeah, that--we should probably do that.” 

Lance waits as he bends down to retrieve his blade, sheathing it and pausing to take one last look at the bomb they’d evidently successfully defused before they both start toward the exit. “Also,” Lance starts, and Keith glances over at him. “We’re definitely talking about-- _ that,  _ later.” 

Keith feels his face flush and he quickly looks away. “Noted,” he manages.

“Good,” Lance huffs. And then, as if doing it before he can lose his nerve, he grabs Keith’s hand and twists their fingers together, holding on tightly as Keith bites his lip to suppress a smile. “Now let’s get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> 


	8. proximity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is ridiculous,” Keith mutters, eyeing the green-colored ointment that Lance is squeezing onto his fingers. “It’s just a scratch.”
> 
> “Stop complaining,” Lance huffs, shifting on his knees so that he’s eye-level with Keith. “What if the knife was poisoned or something?”
> 
> “Then I’m pretty sure I’d be dead by now.”
> 
> “What if you have a ton of gross, alien bacteria already setting up camp in your face?”
> 
> Keith rolls his eyes and sighs exasperatedly—probably a bit more dramatically than was strictly necessary, to hide the way his heart flips in his chest when Lance lays his free arm across Keith’s knees for balance. “My face is fine, Lance—”
> 
> Lance’s fingers come into contact with Keith’s cheek and he jerks away with a hiss, gritting his teeth at the abrupt stinging sensation.
> 
> “Your face is fine, huh,” Lance deadpans, hand still held up in midair.

If someone had told Keith after he’d woken up this morning that only a few hours later he would be sprinting down the dusty, sand-covered aisles of the alien equivalent of a farmer’s market while being pursued by bounty hunters hungry to get their hands on a paladin of Voltron and make some hard cash, he honestly wouldn’t have questioned it.

And for good reason, because that—is exactly what he is currently doing. Just a typical day in the life of a paladin.

Although, it would be considerably less inconvenient and altogether terrifying if the entire team hadn’t been scattered in their attempt to evade capture.

Keith does feel bad for knocking down someone’s stand full of some kind of unnaturally purple alien fruit in his haste to escape the four-armed lizard man and his friend with a face that looks frighteningly like a spider’s, both in hot pursuit of the red paladin. In his defense, this _is_ a life-or-death situation, out of which Keith would prefer to be emerge from alive.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, legs pulsing and lungs aching with exertion as he launches himself over a table covered in brightly-colored gemstones, sending a large handful toppling into the sand. “Shitshitshit—”

He ignores the squawks of protest and cries of alarm as he shoves his way through the crowd, slashing his knife through the string of a tent and sending it flapping into the path behind him, praying it’ll slow his pursuers long enough for him to make a plan. And while turning to shoot a quick glance over his shoulder could make him lose speed, he’s glad he did. Because the second he looks back, he jerks to the side and feels the oncoming blade graze his cheek before flying into the stone wall ahead of him.

That was too close. _Way_ too close.

At the very least, that’s all he needs to motivate himself to keep running, despite every muscle in his body screaming for rest. He swears again as he finally reaches the edge of the market, wheeling around the corner of the wall and ducking into the first alley he finds. He doesn’t dare look back again as he weaves his way throughout the stone city, hoping it’ll be enough to lose the bounty hunters on his tail.

He’s not sure how long he’s been running when he finally allows himself to slow down, turning around to survey his surroundings and make sure that he’s alone. It’s hard to see much through the sweat in his eyes, even as he tries to blink it away, chest heaving for air and feet still moving backward in case he has to start running again.

The good news: he doesn’t have to start running again.

The bad news: he let himself get distracted enough that he doesn’t notice the figure hidden in the shadows of the alley beside him, and the hand reaching out to grab him.

Before Keith can react, the hand is closing around his arm and yanking him sideways and into the darkness. Panic jolts through Keith’s entire body and he instinctively tries to rip himself out of his captor’s grasp, but they hold fast, twisting Keith around until his back hits the wall.

“Let go of me!” Keith snaps, struggling to free his arms from under the person pressed against him and really only managing to elbow them sharply in their side.

 _“Ow,_ god—”

Keith takes advantage and slips one arm away, reaching up to defend himself before they catch his wrist mid-air.

“Keith,” they say—or wheeze, more like. “Keith, it’s me!”

Keith freezes, and finally stops struggling long enough to look up at his supposed attacker. “Lance?”

“Uh, duh,” Lance grumbles, releasing his hold on Keith’s other arm to rub at his side. “Who else?”

“Oh, my god,” Keith breathes, closing his eyes and dropping his head back against the wall in a mix relief and exasperation. “Lance, you can’t just—I thought you were one of the bounty hunters.”

“Well, _excuse me_ for trying to save your ass,” Lance huffs. “Now can I let go of you, or are you gonna try to hit me again?”

Keith realizes, belatedly, that Lance is still holding his wrist. He pulls it away with a scoff, folding both arms across his chest. “I thought you were an enemy,” he repeats defensively.

“And my ribs thank you,” Lance says dryly, pointedly rubbing his side again. But his disgruntled expression is quickly replaced with concern when his eyes drift ever so slightly to the side, and suddenly his hand is coming up to hover near Keith’s face. “Keith, you’re bleeding.”

“Oh.” Keith blinks, reaching up to touch his cheek and wincing when it stings, having almost forgotten about nearly taking a blade to the face. “Yeah. One of them nicked me.”

“Sonuvabitch,” Lance mutters, and suddenly Keith is thankful for the heat as something to blame for the way his cheeks warm as Lance gently settles his fingers against his skin. “Does it hurt? It doesn’t look that bad, but—”

“It’s fine,” Keith insists, waving Lance’s hand away and trying to ignore the way his chest flutters as Lance lowers his arm, looking unconvinced. “Do you know where the rest of the team is?”

Lance’s face falls and his mouth twists into a grimace. “No. I tried to find them, but—I think Hunk and Allura managed to stick together, and Shiro and Pidge, but…”

He trails off, but Keith understands what he means, anyway. They have no way of knowing whether or not the others are still together, if they’ve been caught, if they’re hurt—Keith’s stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought.

But his thoughts are quickly interrupted by the sound of voices echoing from beyond their hideaway, attracting both his and Lance’s immediate attention. Their heads snap toward the mouth of the alley.

“Split up,” Keith can hear someone saying, followed by a quiet hiss and the sound of a blade being drawn. “Find the red paladin.” Keith inhales sharply, and he feels Lance stiffen beside him. “Search every inch of the city if you have to.”

And then, silence. Eerie, deafening silence that sends chills running down Keith’s spine as he and Lance turn to look at each other, wide-eyed and terrified.

The hunt is on.

Mind scrambling, Keith glances down the other end of the alley to see a dead end. Meaning they’re trapped, and if one of those bounty hunters happens to turn around the corner…

Keith hears himself speak before he really even registers his own thought, but he can see where his mind is going with this. “They don’t know you’re here.”

Lance blinks at him. “What?”

“They don’t know you’re here,” Keith repeats, speaking urgently but keeping his voice low. “Only me. I’ll lure them away, and then you can go find the rest of the team—”

“Whoawhoawhoa,” Lance interrupts, blocking Keith’s path with one arm as if he’s afraid he’ll bolt. “Slow down, Keith, there’s no way—”

“We don’t have time to argue about this!” Keith scowls, pushing Lance’s arm down and taking a single step before Lance is blocking him again, this time with a hand clamped around Keith’s bicep.

“Keith, they’ll _kill_ you.”

“And if they find us here, they’ll kill _both_ of us,” Keith points out, trying in vain to shrug Lance’s hand away. “My staying here is only putting you in danger. If I leave, you’ll be safe.” He tries once again to move away, but Lance only takes hold of his shoulder and pins him in place.

“Keith, _stop.”_ His expression hardens, eyes locked onto Keith’s, startling him with the sudden intensity of his gaze. “I’m not letting you risk your life for me.”

Keith opens his mouth to retort, because _why not, you would do the same—_ but then they both hear the footsteps slowly approaching the mouth of the alley, and by then it’s too late for Keith to do much of anything. And before he can even react, he’s being pushed even further back against the wall as Lance crowds against him without warning, hands on either side of Keith’s head, chests pressed flush together.

It’s enough to make Keith stop breathing, honestly.

His heart is beating wildly in his throat, from panic and suspense, or from the sheer proximity of Lance in general. Probably both.

Maybe Keith should be more concerned with the bloodthirsty bounty hunter creeping just beyond the alley, but now that he’s in this position, he can’t quite stop… staring. Lance’s gaze is fixed on the mouth of the alley, brow furrowed and quiet breaths hot against Keith’s cheek.

And it’s _so_ not the right time for Keith to be suddenly fixated on every single detail of Lance’s face, when they could be seconds away from possible death. But Lance is so close, and his eyes are so blue, and there are light freckles dotting the bridge of his nose, and a drop of sweat sliding down the long, sharp curve of his jaw, and his lips look so soft—

Keith hastily rips his gaze away from Lance’s face before he can get too carried away; just in time to see his lizard friend come into view at the end of the alley. His breath catches and Lance immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, still glaring resolutely at the threat.

The hunter stops in his tracks, and consequently, Keith’s heart all but stops in his chest.

He can practically feel Lance holding his breath as the hunter’s eyes narrow, tongue flicking once out of his mouth, twisting the blades held in two of his four hands. Keith holds completely still, eyes wide, praying desperately to whatever intergalactic being that may be out there to _please don’t let him see us, please make him walk away, pleasepleaseplease—_

The hunter slowly draws another knife from his belt, and Keith’s heart drops into the pit of his stomach.

And then: nothing. Another flick of the tongue, and he stalks away.

Keith’s entire body sighs with relief. Even so, Lance waits for another tense moment before peeling his hand away from Keith’s mouth, still looking after the hunter as if he might come back at any moment. Until he evidently decides it’s safe to turn away, at which point he looks at Keith, staring silently up at him.

He licks his lips, and Keith knows it’s because it’s hot and they’re dry, but that doesn’t stop his gaze from drifting. “Are you okay?” Lance breathes.

Keith’s eyes flick back up to Lance’s and he swallows, nodding carefully. “You?”

Lance blinks, returning a small nod and glancing one more time toward the end of the alley. Keith listens, but he doesn’t hear any more movement. Lance must not either, because he turns back to Keith and takes a quiet breath. “I think they’re gone.”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees, and why does his voice suddenly sound so _wrecked?_ “Must be.”

He’s suddenly aware of just how narrow this alley is, and just how small the space is between them, and just how vulnerable he is in this position. Most of all, just how utterly unopposed he is to the closeness, in general. And, just how long they’ve both been standing here watching one another, even though the threat has passed.

Keith clears his throat. “We should go,” he manages. “We need to find the rest of the team.”

Lance blinks, looking almost confused. “Oh.” He blinks again, a tiny crease appearing in his brow. “Oh, yeah. We should… probably leave.”

Yes, they should probably leave. And yet neither of them moves.

And if he didn’t know any better—if Keith didn’t know any better, he swears that he sees Lance’s eyes slowly drag down, lower and lower until Keith isn’t even watching anymore, his own gaze having wandered down once again to Lance’s mouth.

“Lance,” Keith whispers, not even knowing what he’s about to say, and he _swears_ that Lance might start leaning in, shifting against Keith’s chest until there’s nothing left between them but their own breaths mingling together—

“Pssst, hey!”

The sound of a familiar voice pierces the silence and they snap apart, Keith nearly smacking his head back against the wall and Lance stumbling back against the other side, eyes wide and cheeks flushed pink.

“Lance, Keith!”

Keith’s heart is still hammering in his chest as they both look up to find Pidge’s head poking over the edge of the roof, glasses glinting in the planet’s sunlight. Because Lance— _was that really—was he really about to—_

“Pidge?” Lance asks incredulously.

“Shiro’s on his way in Black,” she grins down at them. “We found Hunk and Allura, they’re with him now.”

As if on cue, the air is shattered by the roar of the Black Lion, swiftly descending into the city and coming down to rest in the large, open space just beyond the alley.

“That’s our getaway!” Pidge calls, and then her head disappears, and Lance and Keith glance at each other.

Lance’s mouth turns up into a lopsided smile, sending Keith’s heart fluttering against his ribcage as he grandly gestures toward the end of the alley, where the Black Lion awaits. “After you, Mullet.”

“Charming,” Keith mutters, peeling himself away from the wall and grabbing Lance’s hand to tug him along. “C’mon, Lance.”

Keith realizes, halfway back to the Castle of Lions, that he still hasn’t quite let go of Lance’s hand.

And Lance didn’t say a single thing about it.

 

。·:*:·ﾟ★。·:*:·ﾟ☆

 

Keith had insisted that his cut didn’t need tending to.

Lance had insisted that it did.

Shiro had agreed, if only to avoid the risk of an infection from exposure to a foreign environment.

Which is how Keith finds himself sitting in the medbay with Lance surrounded by a large assortment of Altean medicinal products that he’d borrowed from Allura, while the rest of the team hits the showers or heads to the kitchen for something to eat.

Because yes, Lance had also insisted on being the one to “fix Keith’s face.”

“This is ridiculous,” Keith mutters, eyeing the green-colored ointment that Lance is squeezing onto his fingers. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Stop complaining,” Lance huffs, shifting on his knees so that he’s eye-level with Keith. “What if the knife was poisoned or something?”

“Then I’m pretty sure I’d be dead by now.”

“What if you have a ton of gross, alien bacteria already setting up camp in your face?”

Keith rolls his eyes and sighs exasperatedly—probably a bit more dramatically than was strictly necessary, to hide the way his heart flips in his chest when Lance lays his free arm across Keith’s knees for balance. “My face is fine, Lance—”

Lance’s fingers come into contact with Keith’s cheek and he jerks away with a hiss, gritting his teeth at the abrupt stinging sensation.

“Your face is fine, huh,” Lance deadpans, hand still held up in midair.

“Whatever,” Keith mutters, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can we please just get this over with?”

“Quit being such a big baby about it and we’ll be done in no time,” Lance snorts.

And then whatever retort Keith was about to make promptly dies on his tongue when Lance takes Keith’s chin in his hand, gentle and firm all at once. For the second time today, he’s suddenly aware of how close together they are and, consequently, every single detail on Lance’s face. The slope of his nose, the crease of his brow, the endearing concentration of his gaze as he returns his focus to the cut on Keith’s cheek.

It still stings when Lance carefully begins to apply the ointment again, and Keith winces, but he manages not to flinch away.

Lance’s eyes flick over to Keith’s. “Sorry,” he murmurs, sounding much more genuine than only a moment before.

“Not your fault,” Keith mumbles.

He holds his breath as Lance looks back away and applies more pressure to the cut, movements cautious and gentle, fingers warm and steady on Keith’s jaw. And he can’t help but think about earlier, and how close they had been together, and the feeling of Lance’s breath on his cheek, and the way he had pressed closer and closer like he was about to—

Keith doesn’t even realize that Lance has moved on until he hears the sound of a package ripping open, and he blinks back into focus just as Lance moves to place a bandage over his cut.

“Okay.” Lance lowers his hands from Keith’s face and settles them across Keith’s knees, looking satisfied. “All done.”

Keith thinks, distantly, that now is probably the part where he says _thank you,_ or _you didn’t have to,_ or _something_ just to acknowledge him. And yet he suddenly can’t bring himself to say anything, gaze stuck on Lance’s bright eyes and the curve of his mouth, and then down to his arms still crossed over Keith’s knees.

Lance seems to notice at the same time, because he follows Keith’s eyes to his arms and blinks. “Oh.” Keith almost feels disappointed when he quickly pulls his arms back and clears his throat, cheeks flushing slightly. “Anyway, uh—guess I’ll just—” He rubs the back of his neck, looking down at the mess of Altean bottles beside him. “I’ll start putting everything away—”

“Thank you,” Keith blurts.

Lance’s head snaps up, eyebrows raised before they furrow in confusion. “For what?”

“About—for earlier,” Keith stammers, not really sure where this is coming from or why he feels the sudden need to say it. “For finding me. Or for—when you pulled me into the alley. They would’ve caught me if you didn’t do that.”

Something flickers across Lance’s expression, but he keeps quiet. Which is unfortunate, because that only allows Keith to keep rambling.

“I mean, obviously you would’ve—of course you’d do that for anyone on the team,” he continues, tugging restlessly at one of his gloves and trying desperately to keep his eyes on anything but Lance. “But for all you know, you could’ve been caught because they were looking for me, but you still helped me anyway, even though—er, because you—”

He’s not sure when Lance started to lean forward. Or when he placed a firm, steadying hand on his knee, or when he placed the other around the back of Keith’s neck.

But if there’s one thing he’s sure of, it’s when Lance finally closes the minimal amount of space that’s always seemed to be between them and shuts Keith up himself by pressing their lips together, and consequently short-circuiting his brain.

Keith is so completely and utterly blindsided by it that he practically loses all sense of awareness.

All he can do is sit there, body completely frozen and mind completely blank, eyes wide and unblinking as Lance—kisses him. Really, _actually_ kisses him, without any prompting whatsoever, lips warm and soft against Keith’s.

He’s so unable to comprehend it all that he forgets to kiss back.

Lance’s cheeks are flushed pink when he pulls away, eyes searching and expression morphing into something slightly horrified when he finds Keith staring blankly back at him.

“Uh.” Lance swallows. “I completely misread this situation, didn’t I?”

It’s finally enough for Keith to snap back to the present, his hands darting out to snatch the lapels of Lance’s jacket before he can move away. “Nope,” he manages, and then pulls Lance back in to kiss him properly, swallowing Lance’s small _mmph_ of surprise.

It feels like everything in Keith’s immediate surroundings just disappears. Everything, except for Lance. Because all he can focus on is the way that Lance steadies himself on Keith’s shoulder, and the feeling of Lance’s fingers in his hair, and how Lance tilts his jaw to fix their angle. At some point he lifts a hand back to Keith’s cheek, and Keith can feel the careful way that he settles his fingers across his cheekbone to avoid his cut, and it makes something twist and flutter so dangerously in his stomach that he’s sure it’ll burst right out of his chest.

It feels like everything falling into place.

“God,” Lance breathes when they break apart, one hand still wrapped around the back of Keith’s neck, and Keith’s eyelids flutter as he tries to catch his own breath. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to kiss you in that stupid alley.”

Keith hardly gives himself any time to reply before he’s taking Lance’s face in his hands and pulling him back yet again. “Pretty sure I have a good idea,” he answers, and Lance doesn’t protest when their lips meet again.

Yeah, Keith is pretty sure he has a good idea of how badly Lance had wanted to kiss him in that alley. Because Keith is pretty sure that he wanted to kiss Lance in that alley just as badly.

And now that they’re finally as close as they can possibly be, all Keith can think about is how much he wants it to stay that way.

Then someone clears their throat behind them and Keith almost falls off his stool when they jerk apart.

They both look up to see Pidge standing at the entrance of the medbay, a half-empty juice pouch held in one hand, looking very small and out of place in her oversized T-shirt.

“Pidge!” Lance squeaks, and Keith feels his cheeks heat as Pidge takes a loud slurp of her juice.

“Allura just sent me to check on you guys,” she says, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“Well, we’re doing great,” Lance laughs, voice a bit high-pitched. “Just great. Everything is perfectly under control.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

 _“Anyway!”_ Keith coughs as Lance tries valiantly to casually smooth out his jacket. “We’re fine, so—yeah. We’re good. No need to stick around or anything.”

Pidge blinks at them. Keith and Lance blink back.

Lance sighs, still looking very much flustered. “That was my nice way of telling you to leave, Pidge.”

Pidge rolls her eyes, but she finally relents, turning back toward the entrance. “At least I waited this time,” she grumbles.

“Pidge!”

“Okay, okay, I’m leaving!”

The two of them are silent as they wait for the doors to slide closed behind Pidge. The second that they do, Lance slaps a hand to his face and groans, and Keith bites his lip as Lance twists back around, mouth curled up into a nervous, apologetic smile.

“I don’t suppose you think that totally ruined the mood, do you?”

Keith chews on his lip a little as he looks back up toward the entrance of the medbay, and does a brief survey of the room before his gaze returns to Lance, looking up at him hopefully.

“Well, seeing as we aren’t in any imminent danger this time,” Keith starts, and Lance’s face breaks out into a grin so big it almost hurts to look at. “Not really.”

And this time, when Lance leans in to close the space between them once again, there’s no one to interrupt them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.thespacenico.tumblr.com)!  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thespacenico/)!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thespacenico)!  
> 


	9. comfort

The first flash of lightning comes not long after it’s started to rain, loud and hard against the windows of the apartment.

Shiro counts to five, before there’s a booming clap of thunder that seems to echo throughout the room long after it began. Adam hums from where he sits beside him, turning the next page of his book. 

“I didn’t know it was supposed to storm tonight.” 

“Well, now you know.” Shiro pulls back the covers and slips underneath to settle back against his pillows, resting his head back against the wall. “How long do you think?” 

Adam glances over at the clock on their bedside table. “I’ll give it five minutes.” 

Shiro scoffs. “No way. Three at most.” 

“You asked,” Adam grumbles, and Shiro laughs quietly, reaching across the space to pat his arm. 

They fall back into a comfortable silence for a moment. Adam reads his book, and Shiro sits and listens to the rain drumming against the window, and the sounds of cars driving by on the wet pavement outside. Each time a flash of lightning illuminates the room, Shiro counts the seconds between it and the next clap of thunder, one of them coming hardly a second later.

He looks back to Adam, sliding one leg over to nudge him in the side. “How’s your book?”

“Ugh,  _ so  _ boring,” Adam sighs, dropping the book into his lap and glaring down at it. “I need a distraction.” 

As if on cue, there’s a short, quiet knock on their bedroom door, and they both look up. Shiro smiles. “There’s your distraction.” 

Adam points at the clock. “Four minutes. We were both wrong.” 

He closes his book and sets it aside as Shiro starts to move the covers back. The door creaks open, accompanied by shorter, quieter, rumble of thunder, and then a mess of dark hair pokes into the room. Shiro just smiles again and pats the space beside him, and he and Adam both watch as Keith slips inside, closing the door behind him and pitter-pattering over to the bed.

Adam switches off the bedside lamp and follows Shiro under the covers as Keith clambers onto the bed, crawling in between them wiggling under the sheets when Shiro holds them up for him.

It’s all so very familiar, settling the covers over the three of them, Keith squished in between, everything feeling warm and comfortable despite the storm raging outside. Keith tucks his hands under his cheek, and Adam rolls over with another sigh, propped up on one elbow and head held in his hand. 

“You need a haircut.” 

“I don’t need a haircut,” Keith huffs, but he doesn’t stop Adam from brushing his fingers through his bangs to get them out of his face. 

Shiro shifts onto his side to mirror Keith, humming as Keith squints up at him. “Did the storm scare you?”

Keith’s expression immediately becomes solemn and he nods, looking very serious. “Mhm.” 

Shiro bites his lip to hold back a smile as he and Adam share an amused, knowing glance over Keith’s head.

Keith never admits to being scared of anything.

“Oh, Keith,” Adam teases, patting his head. “You’re scared of a little rain?”

“It’s not a little!” Keith pouts, wriggling away from Adam’s hand. “There’s thunder! And lightning!”

“Aw, Keith,” Shiro coos, poking Keith’s nose and laughing when he wrinkles it. “Don’t worry, Adam and I are here to keep you safe, pumpkin.”

“I’m not a pumpkin!” 

Adam casually scoots closer to Keith, effectively trapping him between himself and Shiro. “I hear that pumpkins are ticklish.”

Keith freezes, eyes flicking up to Shiro as he taps his chin thoughtfully. 

“Me too… maybe we should find out for ourselves.” 

Keith doesn’t duck under the covers fast enough before Shiro and Adam are both hauling him back out and attacking his sides with tickles. 

“Stop!” Keith squeals, already giggling as he tries to push their arms away, twisting onto his side to press his face into the pillows. “Stop, m’not—ticklish!” 

They tickle Keith until his squeals of protest turn into nonstop giggles, until he’s breathless from laughing and from attempts to wrestle the offending hands away, until he accidentally kicks Adam in the stomach, which results in a loud  _ oof!  _ and the end of their tickle war.  

“That’s what you get for calling me a pumpkin,” Keith mutters a moment later, as they’re all slipping back underneath the sheets.

Adam squawks. “That was Takashi!” 

Shiro’s heart is warm as he watches Keith fall asleep with Adam’s arm curled around him, after they’ve each pressed a kiss into his hair and said goodnight. The rainfall has lessened into a soft patter against the windows, the sound of thunder low and distant as it rumbles through the sky. 

He thinks he could get used to this, as he watches Adam drift off next, and reaches over to take off his glasses that are still perched on his nose, and brushes his fingers through Keith’s hair one more time.

Then again, he thinks he already is.

 

。·:*:·ﾟ★。·:*:·ﾟ☆

 

It rains again, a week later. 

It’s more of a drizzle this time, soft and light, droplets silently scattering and collecting along the windows of the living room while it grows continually darker outside. The only light in the room comes from the lamp in Adam’s reading corner, and the television playing quietly in the background.

Adam has moved on to another book, and Shiro is attempting to do a crossword puzzle but keeps letting himself be distracted by the occasional chorus of laughter from the TV, and the rain falling gently outside. Everything feels quiet and calm and peaceful, a stark contrast compared to the previous storm.

Which is why Shiro is surprised when he looks up to see Keith at the entrance of the hallway, peering timidly into the living room with his favorite red blanket clutched in one hand. Shiro unfolds his legs and puts them both on the floor, setting down his half-finished crossword puzzle. 

“Keith?” 

Adam looks up from his book, brow creased in confusion, and then follows Shiro’s gaze to where Keith shrinks back the slightest bit, holding his blanket closer to his chest. Shiro and Adam share a knowing glance across the room, but it’s nothing like the last one, when they had known that Keith was only pretending to be afraid of the thunderstorm so he had an excuse to sleep in their room.

This time, there’s nothing for him to pretend to be afraid of.

“Hey, bud,” Shiro murmurs, after reaching for the remote to switch off the TV. “Can’t sleep?”

Keith shakes his head, eyes falling to the floor as he shuffles in place. 

“Why don’t you come over here and sit with us for a while?”

There’s a brief moment’s hesitation, while Keith rocks back and forth on his feet, before he finally decides to step out of the hallway and into the living room. 

In the time that it takes for him to reach the couch, he wraps his blanket around his shoulders so that his entire body is swallowed completely; then Shiro and Adam watch as he climbs onto the couch, wriggles into place, and promptly buries his face against Shiro’s side.

Adam frowns in concern, already setting his book down and coming over to sit on Keith’s other side as Shiro wraps a careful arm around him. They all sit quietly together, for the time being. Shiro occasionally rubs his arm along Keith’s back, just to let him know that they’re listening. Adam props his elbow on the back of the couch and rests his cheek on his fist, waiting patiently.

“Keith,” Shiro starts eventually, and Keith curls even further into himself than he already was. “Are you ready to talk?”

Keith seems to consider, and then shakes his head, hair ruffling against Shiro’s shirt. Shiro and Adam glance at one another again. 

“That’s okay,” Shiro says softly. He slides his arm to Keith’s side and pats his knee. “Just let us know when.” 

The room falls into silence once more, except for the sound of the rain still falling gently outside. Adam takes to brushing his fingers through Keith’s hair after a while, smoothing it out, tucking it behind his ear each time it slips out. 

Keith stays where he is, tucked against Shiro’s side, face buried in his shirt.

Just like last week, it’s all so very familiar, even if the circumstances are much different: Keith squeezed in between Adam and Shiro, everything feeling warm and comfortable if not for the quiet concern while they wait for Keith to open up. 

A good amount of time has passed when Keith moves at last, turning his head from Shiro’s side but still keeping close. Adam brushes his fingers through Keith’s hair one more time and then rests his hand on Keith’s shoulder, tilting his head a little to look at him better. 

“How’re you feeling, champ?”

Keith doesn’t respond immediately, keeping his eyes downcast and chin tucked into the folds of his blanket. Neither of them push, content enough to wait as long as they need. Another minute or so of quiet passes before Keith finally speaks, voice small. 

“I miss my Pa.” 

Shiro’s heart clenches in his chest at the words, despite this not being the first time that he’s heard them. And Keith has always been pretty good at avoiding tears, but it’s hard to miss the way that his bottom lip quivers, and how he ducks his head again to wipe his face with the back of his hand. Adam squeezes his shoulder and Shiro sighs, pulling him closer.

“We know you do,” he murmurs. 

That’s all there really is to say. It seems to be enough, anyway. They all understand, in their own quiet way. 

Shiro waits for another few moments, and then gently pats Keith’s side again.

“What do you want to do?”

Keith shrugs, sniffling slightly. “I just wanna stay here,” he mumbles. 

“Alright.” Adam smiles as Shiro wipes away the last tear that’s managed to slip down Keith’s cheek with his thumb. “We’ll stay here then.” 

So they stay there on the couch, wrapped up close and comfortable, quiet and together as the rain continues to fall. They stay until Keith’s eyes start to droop, and he falls asleep curled up in his blanket between them, and the sound of his soft breathing joins that of the drops collecting on the windows. They stay until the rain stops, and Adam has long since drifted to sleep on Shiro’s shoulder. 

And Shiro thinks, not for the first or the last time: Yeah. He could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.taxashi.tumblr.com)!  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thespacenico/)!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thespacenico)!  
> 


	10. daydreaming

Lance is dreaming.

He always does, when he sleeps. A side effect of a hyperactive imagination, Mami always said—an outlet for all of his built-up energy and endearing, child-like enthusiasm, a way for his mind to condense all of his runaway thoughts into one coherent picture.

Imagination can be a double-edged sword, though. Sometimes it’s comforting to be able to dream about what could be, like pieces of a puzzle that has yet to be put together, and leave him feeling hopeful and eager when they end. Other times it’s hard, because after a lifetime’s worth of war and violence it’s difficult not to dream about what could have been, things that could have gone wrong and things he could have lost.  

But it gets easier, over time. 

Even the worst memories eventually fade, replaced by others that make going to sleep at the end of the day something to look forward to.

So Lance does like to dream, generally speaking. And yet, dreaming isn’t even the best part.

The best part is when he wakes up. It’s always slow and gradual, like his mind is reluctant to let go of sleep and yet indifferent to the idea of it. The last remnants of his dream break apart and easily slip away, although sometimes he doesn’t even realize he’s woken up. 

Sometimes, he doesn’t even realize that he’s stopped dreaming, not when his eyes crack open and his vision clears to reveal another sleeping face before him: a slowly fading scar, beginning at the jaw and trailing up to kiss the tip of the cheekbone. Dark lashes a stark contrast on pale skin, and long hair fanned out across the pillow and very nearly shimmering in the softness of the morning sunlight peeking through the window curtains.

A face that Lance has long since grown to call home, as cliché as it sounds. Lance has learned he doesn’t mind clichés so much, not when they make him this undeniably and indescribably  _ happy. _

Keith is sleeping soundly beside him, fingers curled loosely into his palm where it lies against the bed, breaths coming out in soft puffs of air that drift just far enough across the space between them for Lance to feel them against his own cheek. The entire room is bathed in a soft, golden glow, seeping through the blinds to settle around the room like a metaphorical blanket of honey, and Keith is drenched in it. The sheets are strewn haphazardly across the both of them, but Lance can’t find it in himself to care when everything still feels so warm.

He’s hardly awake, but there’s no denying the upward tilt of his mouth as he drinks in the view. Keith always looks so much more peaceful when he sleeps, the perpetual crease in his brow smoothed away, no grumpy pouts or half-hearted scowls; although, Lance usually has no trouble warding those off himself with sweet talk and gentle kisses.

It’s not until a piece of hair slips and falls into Keith’s face that Lance finally gives into the urge to reach over and tuck it back behind his ear, lightly tracing his fingers along his jaw before pulling back. Keith stirs then, brow twitching slightly as he squints against the light, shifting slightly to press his face into the pillow. It takes a moment, but eventually he manages to crack one eye open, mouth immediately pulling up into a smile when he sees Lance already smiling back at him.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice rough and scratchy with sleep. 

Lance chuckles as he squeezes his eye shut once more, breathing in and stretching his arms out underneath the pillow. “Morning, sleepyhead.” 

Keith exhales with a slow sigh, settling once more to face Lance even though his eyes are still closed. “Were you dreaming?” he slurs.

Lance considers this, very aware of the totally, utterly ridiculous smile growing slowly across his face—so, so dopey, and so,  _ so  _ in love. 

“Yeah,” he decides eventually, speaking in a murmur. “I was.” 

Keith hums, and then he’s sliding a leg across the space to tangle with Lance’s and bring him closer; Lance thinks if he smiles any bigger his whole entire head will just burst. He shifts and wriggles on his side to get closer, draping an arm over Keith’s waist and tucking a hand underneath his cheek. 

There’s not even anything special about this morning in particular. It’s just the same as it always is, the two of them waking up beside or sometimes tangled up in each other, hiding under the sheets from the sunlight and keeping close, just because they can and because they want to. Everything about it makes Lance feel safe, and warm, and secure in a way he knows for a fact he’s never felt before, not with anyone else. 

It’s enough to make Lance’s heart swell in his chest as he watches Keith frown against the light shining on his face, smushing his cheek into his pillow. 

He still hasn’t stopped looking when Keith opens his eyes again, a small smile taking his lips and cheeks flushing slightly when his gaze focuses on Lance. “What’re you looking at?” 

Lance chews on his lip for a moment, something teasing like  _ “oh, nothing much,”  _ or  _ “I’ll let you figure that one out,”  _ on the tip of his tongue. Instead he just smiles again, and slowly slides his hand up and down along the curve of Keith’s back in gentle, soothing motions. “Just you,” he answers softly. 

There’s a playful gleam in Keith’s eye, despite the early hour of the morning. “Just me?” 

His eyes flutter closed again when Lance reaches up to brush the hair from his forehead. “What else?” Keith only hums again in response, and makes a small noise of complaint Lance knows he doesn’t really mean when he leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek, just underneath his eye. “Want me to make you some coffee?” 

Keith’s brow furrows, and a small laugh slips from Lance’s lips when he feels Keith’s arm snaking around his waist and effectively trapping him there as Keith wiggles across the remaining space between them. “What’s the rush?” he murmurs, pressing his face into Lance’s collar. 

“No rush,” Lance assures him quietly, resting his arm around Keith’s shoulders. “We’ve got time.” 

Keith sighs, breath tickling Lance’s neck and sending a shiver down his spine, all at the same time that warmth blooms in Lance’s chest and spreads all the way out to his fingers and his toes. “Love you,” he mumbles, already slipping under and drifting back to sleep. 

Lance hides his smile by pressing a kiss into Keith’s hair, even though he can’t see it. “Love you too.”

(Lance does get up later to make coffee, after Keith has fallen back asleep. Turns out not to matter though, since Keith drags him back into bed the moment he gets back to distract him with kisses, and the coffee goes cold anyway.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.thespacenico.tumblr.com)!  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thespacenico/)!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thespacenico)!  
> 


	11. first day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shiro drops keith off at his first day of school.

The first day of school is always the hardest.

It’s Keith’s first day of third grade, and Shiro took the day off work just so he could be the one to drop him off and pick him up. Keith would never admit it, but judging by the way he’s been sitting quietly in the backseat for the entirety of the ride, chewing on his lip and clutching his backpack to his chest and staring out the window, Shiro can tell he’s nervous. 

He doesn’t say anything about it.

The carpool lane is pretty much packed, and Shiro uses that as an excuse to park in a space beside the school instead of dropping Keith off at the front. It gives Keith a little more time to settle his nerves, and Shiro a little more time to be his big brother self. They climb out of the car and step onto the sidewalk, and Shiro holds Keith’s lunch while he slips his backpack over his shoulders. 

“You put your pencils in your backpack this morning?” Shiro asks, handing over Keith’s lunchbox (packed by Adam this morning). Keith nods. “And your folders? You’ve got your lunch, and your water—you have everything you need?” 

Keith nods again, shuffling his feet and tugging at the hem of his shirt. Shiro watches him glance in the direction of the school’s entrance, eyeing the inevitable crowd of kids and parents and siblings scattered across the pavement. He won’t stop pulling at his fingers, even those curled around the handle of his lunchbox, and his whole body still seems tense, like he’s ready to drop everything and bolt if necessary. 

“Hey.” He looks up at the sound of Shiro’s voice, and Shiro smiles down at him. “I’ll walk with you to the front.” If Keith’s next nod seems a bit more fervent than the others, Shiro still doesn’t mention it. 

Shiro smiles to himself when Keith’s hand finds his halfway down the sidewalk, and offers a gentle squeeze as a way of quiet reassurance. The closer they get, the closer Keith drifts to Shiro’s side, and the tighter his grip becomes, until the only thing between them and the two identical sets of double doors is the remaining throng of people standing along the sidewalk and walking in and out of the school. 

There’s an excited sort of buzz in the air, the sound of parents calling goodbye and kids chatting amongst themselves floating across the square and giving Shiro a surprising sense of nostalgia. 

A sense of nostalgia that’s cut short when there’s a single, brief tug on his hand that brings him to an abrupt halt in the middle of the sidewalk. He looks down to find Keith standing there behind him, looking somewhat stiff and frozen while his eyes dart around the scene in front of them. It’s not until he sees the telltale sign of Keith biting down on his lower lip that Shiro realizes just how nervous he is. 

“Hey,” he repeats softly, and kneels down in front of Keith as the first tear slips down his cheek. Shiro lets go of Keith’s hand to wipe it away while Keith sniffles, blinking down at his feet. “Keith, it’s gonna be okay.”

“I don’t wanna go,” Keith whimpers, reaching up to scrub at the other side of his face.   

“I know,” Shiro answers, brushing the hair out of Keith’s face. “It’s okay to be scared, but you’ll feel better once you’re inside. I’m sure you’ll make friends in no time, and then I’ll be here to see you when you come back out.” 

He smiles, small and gentle as Keith looks back up at him. “Sound good?” Keith presses his lips together and nods, and immediately steps forward to bury his face against Shiro’s chest when Shiro opens his arms. 

“You’ll have fun,” Shiro murmurs, kissing the top of Keith’s head. “I love you.” 

“Love you too,” Keith mumbles into his shirt, maybe because he doesn’t think Shiro will be able to hear it. 

Shiro hears it. He always does. 

Keith sniffs again as Shiro pulls away, leaving both hands on Keith’s shoulders. “I’ll see you soon, alright?” 

“Okay,” Keith agrees, wiping the last of the wetness from his eyes with the back of his hand. 

Shiro stays there on the sidewalk after they part ways, watching as Keith finally makes his way toward the front doors of the school. He looks back just before he reaches them, and Shiro offers one last smile and a wave that Keith tentatively returns. Then he disappears into the building, and Shiro waits just a tiny bit longer before heading back to the car.

(Shiro is already outside waiting for Keith when school ends that day, just like he said he would be. Keith runs to him with a bright smile and a piece of paper clutched in his hand with a spaceship that he drew in art class, and laughs when Shiro scoops him up into his arms to carry him back to the car and talk about his day.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.thespacenico.tumblr.com)!  
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> 


	12. to the future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post-war confessions

Socializing is hard. 

This is one of the many reasons that Keith has never been a particularly big fan of social events, in any capacity. It’s one of a number of things he wishes he could change about himself sometimes. 

Sometimes, he wishes that he were better with people, or at the very least that he enjoyed being around them in the first place. Maybe if he were more personable, they would enjoy being around him, too, but that’s never really been the case.

Connecting with people has never exactly been his strong suit, although there are the few people in his life now who make him think that it can be worth the effort. First it was Shiro, then Adam, then the entire team of Voltron—eventually his mom, even, although that’s a relationship they’re both still learning to navigate. 

It’s not that he’s asocial, necessarily, but he truly doesn’t understand why anyone would want to constantly subject themselves to something that to him is so  _ draining.  _ There’s only so much he can take of polite smiles and obligatory handshakes and small talk with strangers he’ll probably never seen again and yet are scrutinizing his every move, as if they’re just waiting for him to mess up. 

To think that there are some who voluntarily do things like this on a daily, weekly, or even a monthly basis and genuinely enjoy it is utterly bewildering to him.

_ This,  _ being the post-saving the universe intergalactic diplomacy ball that he and the rest of the former paladins were invited to. And  _ some,  _ being Lance, who Keith has seen interact with more people tonight than Keith thinks he’s interacted with in his entire life.

He’s watched Lance bounce around from table to table, group to group, corner to corner all night, with no sign that he’ll be stopping anytime soon. 

It’s admirable really, the way he so effortlessly moves throughout the room with so much grace, acting in all the right ways and saying all the right things. He’d be jealous if he weren’t so caught up in the frequent flash of Lance’s smile, and the sparkle in his eyes every time he cracks a joke, and the long column of his throat when he throws his head back to laugh along with whoever he happens to be talking to. Not to mention how the blue theme of the suit tailored just for him (they’d all received one) brings out the blue of his eyes infinitely more than usual.

Not that he’s been staring. Very openly. All night. For no reason whatsoever. He’s gotten enough grief from Shiro already. 

Only there is a reason, because eventually it’s not enough to satisfy the tugging in his gut—the one that’s been bothering him for long enough that it’s begun to make him tired, and restless, yet he doesn’t have the courage to follow. 

He slips away the first chance he gets, stepping out of the noise and the crowd of the ballroom and into the quiet of a small, secluded balcony outside, overlooking a vast expanse of the planet that’s essentially one enormous garden, he’s realized. The sounds of friendly chatter and upbeat music immediately dims once the doors are closed behind him, and he takes a moment to breathe before finding himself leaning against the delicately ornate banister, arms folded, staring out at the stars scattered across the darkening sky. 

Time always seems to go by faster this way. It’s easy to get lost in his thoughts once they have his full attention, and he’s been alone with them long enough that he doesn’t mind it too much—except for times like now, when the topic of his thoughts are something that’s been bothering him long enough that he desperately wants to share them with someone. One person, in particular. That’s something else that sets him apart from everyone else, he thinks, although he doesn’t have much time to ponder that before he’s interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Thought I’d find you out here.” Keith starts slightly, glancing over his shoulder to see Lance carefully closing the balcony doors behind him. “Mind if I join you?”

He doesn’t really wait for Keith to answer before making his way over to stand beside him, but it’s not like Keith was about to turn him down, anyway. “Just needed some air,” he says by way of explanation, turning back to look out over the greenery and flowers and foliage below. 

Lance hums, crossing his arms over the banister and leaning forward. They’re close enough that their shoulders brush, and usually Keith prefers to have his personal space, but he’s found that he never really minds when Lance is the one to invade it. He doesn’t mind a lot of things about Lance, actually. 

But it strikes him then that Lance is out  _ here,  _ instead of in  _ there,  _ and he’s confused enough about the  _ why _ that he glances over questioningly. “What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you out here?” 

“I noticed you were missing,” Lance answers easily, face still tilted up to the sky, and then continues before Keith can even consider the implications of that. “What are you thinking about?” 

“You,” is what Keith might have answered, if he were braver. But he’s not, so he turns away and settles for something vague. “A lot of things.” 

“What are you gonna do?” 

Keith thinks he has whiplash from how quickly the conversation keeps changing directions. He doesn’t even register the question for a moment, blinking up at the stars before turning away again to find Lance peering curiously back at him. “What?” 

“After all this,” Lance clarifies. “With the war being over, and the restoration efforts Allura’s putting into place, and everyone going back home—what are you gonna do?” 

Keith stares at him, frozen and unresponsive under the intensity of Lance’s gaze. It’s something he’s thought about a lot, but never really spoken to anyone about. Now that he has the chance, the uncertainty of it all seems so much more palpable, somehow.

“Do you think you’ll go back to the Blade?” Lance prompts. 

That snaps Keith out of his daze. “No,” he answers firmly. Then falters, shoulders slumping slightly as he looks away. “Maybe? I—I don’t know.” He shifts his weight from one side to the other, studying a small cut on his hand that he doesn’t remember the source of. “I kind of had something else in mind.” 

“Like what?” Lance asks, and from anyone else it would sound prying, and intrusive, but from Lance it only sounds genuine. 

Keith already feels like he’s said too much, but for some reason he’s not so afraid of that anymore. That doesn’t necessarily make it any easier, though. He bites his lip, fully aware of Lance’s gaze still on him as he considers what to say. “Do you remember… on our way back to Earth, we got stuck in that weird game show.” 

“The one where I was almost burned alive?” Lance breathes out a slow, thoughtful sigh mixed with a laugh. “How could I forget?”

“I wasn’t exactly fair to you.” 

Lance’s quiet laughter fades, and out of the corner of Keith’s eye he sees Lance turn to better face him. “What? It’s not like that was your fault—” 

“Not that, I mean—” Keith huffs in frustration, and Lance immediately goes silent, brow furrowed as he waits for Keith to collect himself. “I mean at the end. When we were all forced to choose one person to leave and… I picked you.” 

They both know exactly what he’s talking about without actually saying it, if the following quiet is anything to go by. “Oh,” Lance says softly.

Keith clenches and unclenches his fists against the banister, because he still can’t quite bring himself to look at Lance anymore. “What I said about you—I didn’t mean it, the way it sounded. And I’m sorry.” 

“Keith,” Lance starts. “You don’t have to—”

But something has shifted in Keith’s chest, something heavy and all-encompassing, and he doesn’t want to let himself lose that momentum so he grips the railing and looks up to meet Lance’s gaze. “Do you remember what you said?” he interrupts, trying to ignore the nervous fluttering in his stomach. “About me?” 

Lance’s eyes are searching, flicking back and forth between Keith’s as he gauges his response. “Why?”

The  _ yes  _ is implied. They both know this.

“Do you still want that?” 

Something strange passes over Lance’s face then, something entirely unreadable and therefore terrifying. He slowly, deliberately pushes himself up and fully turns to face Keith properly, one arm still resting across the banister. “What do you mean?” 

Keith feels out of breath, as if he’s just run an entire marathon instead of standing motionless in the exact same spot for the past fifteen minutes. “I mean—do you… is it too late?”

Lance’s expression is something careful and calculated, as if he understands entirely but is still afraid of being wrong. “Keith, what are you trying to say?” 

It all comes pouring out at once, altogether exhilarating yet horrifying because it feels like his entire heart is on the line now, stripped bare just for Lance to see. “I want to be it,” he breathes, his voice remarkably steady despite the furious churning of his stomach and the desperate ache in his chest. “I wanna be the future you talked about. Or even just a part of it, if you’ll let me.”

The lengthy silence that follows is almost unbearable. Keith doesn’t even realize that he’s abandoned the railing in favor of standing almost pleadingly in front of Lance, who only has his hand laying across the railing now. His heart feels like it might burst out of his chest the longer that Lance keeps looking at him like that. Because Lance’s eyes are wide, his lips parted slightly, a small gust of wind ruffles his hair across his forehead, and it’s not  _ fair  _ because Keith wants to kiss him. 

But he can’t, not until he knows for certain that he’s allowed to. 

He doesn’t have to wait long before Lance makes the decision for him. 

Lance’s hand disappears from the banister and finds the back of Keith’s neck instead, and before Keith even has the chance to speak, Lance swiftly closes the little space that remains between them and kisses Keith himself. 

Keith forgets how to breathe. But the initial shock dissipates instantly and then he’s kissing back just as eagerly, eyes falling shut and one hand coming up to take a fistful of Lance’s suit, if nothing but to steady himself. Lance’s other hand slides around to the small of Keith’s back and presses him closer, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, and Keith lets him, following his every touch, his every movement. 

Which is telling, he thinks absently, as Lance pushes and backs him up against the railing without ever breaking apart, and Keith’s lucky he has Lance to anchor him or he may have gone toppling over the side. Either way, he would follow Lance anywhere if he had the choice.

“Dude,” Lance pants, breathless, which is a strange thing to say just before he presses another kiss to Keith’s lips. “What took you so long?” 

“I was scared,” Keith mumbles, distracted, as Lance begins to press more kisses to the corners of his mouth, his cheeks, underneath his eyes. “I didn’t know if you meant it the way I wanted you to.” 

“You,” Lance murmurs, an answer to the unspoken question that still remains between them, Keith clinging to Lance’s waist as Lance kisses the underside of his jaw, and pulls back to look him in the eye. “You’re it for me.” 

And he captures Keith’s mouth again with his own, and it takes everything in Keith’s power not to collapse against the banister behind him with how overwhelming all of this is, in the best kind of way he never knew there could be. 

They never do go back inside to join the others for the rest of the night. Neither of them have to say anything to know that they don’t quite want to let go of this moment yet—new, unfamiliar, and maybe a little bit scary, but theirs, nonetheless. Even after they’ve broken apart they stick close to each other’s sides, speaking quietly or not at all, never not touching in one way or another. 

The future is never certain, Keith decides. That’s been one of the few constants in his life, and he’s got a long list of things to prove it. He would say it’s scary if he hadn’t grown accustomed to it over time, although that doesn’t make it any less disheartening, or difficult to think about. 

But it’s infinitely easier to take on, and infinitely more exciting to look forward to, when he has someone like Lance by his side. Keith has never been the most sentimental person, but Lance has always had a way of bringing out those parts of him. 

_ To us,  _ Keith thinks later, head resting on Lance’s shoulder, Lance’s thumb tracing lazy circles across the back of his hand as they stand together and watch the stars. 

_ And to the future.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.thespacenico.tumblr.com)!  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thespacenico/)!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thespacenico)!  
> 


	13. intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... more post-war confessions

Keith has no excuse.

Well—alright, so technically he  _ does  _ have an excuse, but given that it’s a weak and frankly cowardly one that even he can recognize for its irrationality, it doesn’t actually count. 

The war is over. Has been for months now, although that doesn’t mean there still isn’t work to be done. The universe may not need Voltron anymore, but it’s certainly not perfect, and it definitely still needs some saving. 

The team has essentially split up to cover more ground, working in whatever areas they feel most equipped in: 

Allura and Coran took back to exploring deep space, charting new stars and planets and continuing to restore those still suffering from the aftereffects of the Galra Empire’s reign. Hunk splits his time between space and Earth, using his knowledge about alien spacecrafts to engineer newer, better ones for the Garrison. Pidge has returned to Olkarion for the time being, studying their technology alongside Ryner and researching ways to integrate it with Earth’s. Shiro stays on Earth to be with Adam, who’s been promoted to Admiral in Sanda’s place, and takes up his old teaching position at the Garrison. 

Keith spends most of his time assisting the Blade’s relief efforts under the direction of Krolia and Kolivan. And Lance is currently teaching part-time at the Garrison, although he’s been offered a position to teach full-time and head their Combat Flight Strategy department. It’s been months, but Lance still hasn’t accepted the offer. 

Keith can’t for the  _ life  _ of him figure out why. 

But despite being on different planets, in different solar systems, in different  _ galaxies _ all at once doing very different things, they all still make time to visit each other when they can. Some just visit… more than others. 

Shiro’s new favorite hobby is taking every opportunity he can to point out just how often Keith comes back to Earth between missions.

“Just admit it,” he teases, every time Keith so much as sets foot within ten miles of the Garrison. “Adam and I are just a ruse. We know your true intentions, kid.” 

“Why do you talk weird,” Keith retorts flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why can’t I ever come to visit you guys without being interrogated?”

Shiro levels him with a very knowing look that makes Keith’s ears go hotter than he’d like to admit. “So you’re telling me that the Blade doesn’t need you for the next three days, and you’re  _ not  _ going to see him?”

Keith bites his tongue and resists the urge to throw a shoe at him, just to wipe the smug, triumphant grin off his face. “I never said that,” he mutters, and Shiro laughs. 

It’s not like he shows up uninvited. In fact, Lance is the one who always insists that Keith come see him and his family in Cuba for dinner, which more often than not results in Keith spending the night, also per Lance’s insistence. Tonight is one of those nights.

Their stomachs are full with Lance’s mother’s cooking, their soaked jeans from their secret midnight trip to the beach draped over the porch railing, and their cheeks hurting from the smiles and laughter through it all. The two of them are curled up underneath the sheets in Lance’s bed in his childhood bedroom, because they both refuse to let the other sleep on the floor.

Keith still worries sometimes that he’s intruding, although it’s hard to feel that way when Lance’s entire family welcomes him into their home each time he comes with open arms. It’s worth it anyway, showing up on Lance’s doorstep and being greeted with bright blue eyes and a smile as warm as the summer breeze that blows across the shore that makes Keith feel wanted. 

Keith wants, too. 

Because Lance is already asleep hardly an arm’s length away, hair ruffled against his pillow, hand curled up against his cheek, breaths coming out in slow, soft puffs of air, and Keith can’t take his eyes off him.

Sometimes it hurts too much to look at him. So he doesn’t. 

(Correction: it always hurts too much to look at him. Sometimes, he looks anyway.)

Leaving is always the hardest part, and that’s saying something. Character development, some might say. The days go by too fast, and then it’s time for Keith to head back into space to rejoin the Blade for their next mission. 

Keith wonders though what’s harder: leaving, in the most general sense of the word, or leaving Lance. He thinks he already knows the answer.

The walk from Lance’s house to the stretch of beach where Keith’s ship waits is quiet, save for the sound of the waves crashing further out at sea and washing up against the shore. Keith watches the sand cascade around the toes of his boots with every step and tries to be grateful that Lance has both hands in his pockets as he walks beside him, because that means he doesn’t have to focus all of his energy on resisting the urge to reach over and take one.

(It makes him wonder why Lance, who usually has enough energy for the both of them, who smiles with his eyes and speaks with his hands would have them in his pockets right now. If maybe he’s using his energy for the same thing. It’s a nice thought.)

They come to a stop together just a few yards away from the ship, without really needing to talk about it. Keith feels like there’s something to say for that, about how even off the battlefield they still seem to operate as a team.  _ You know each other too well,  _ Adam had said once.  _ It’s a little scary.  _ Keith might be inclined to agree if it weren’t also comforting, in a way he’s not sure he can describe. 

Keith’s hair is tied back, but he still has to hold his bangs out of his face when the wind picks up. Lance is already smiling when Keith turns to face him. He tries not to think too much about that. “Thanks for walking out with me. You didn’t have to.” 

“I wanted to,” Lance shrugs, and the ease with which he says it is enough to send the pre-existing butterflies in Keith’s stomach into a flurry. “Besides, it’s good practice.” 

“Of course,” Keith huffs a small laugh. “I wouldn’t expect anything but the best from you.”

Lance’s smile grows at that, and there’s a moment where it’s just them, standing there and smiling at each other as the sun rises on the horizon and the waves wash up on the shore. Luckily Lance seems to snap out of it first, clearing his throat and shuffling his feet in the sand. “So, um. Do you know how long you’ll be out this time around?” 

Keith’s heart sinks a little just thinking about it. “A couple months, give or take.”  _ A couple months apart from you.  _

Lance nods, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Well… you’re welcome to come visit anytime, you know. We miss you, man.” 

_ You could come with me,  _ Keith almost says. It’s so tempting, because Lance is right here in front of him, a strange look on his face like maybe that’s exactly what he’s waiting for Keith to say, or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Keith couldn’t ask something like that of Lance anyway.

“I haven’t even left yet,” he quips instead, one corner of his mouth tilting up into a smirk. His stomach flips when Lance only gives him a funny sort of smile, head tilted slightly to the side, and it startles him out of his thoughts and fully into the present. “Anyway, I—um, I should probably get going.” 

Something shifts over Lance’s expression, but it’s gone as quick as it came. “Yeah. You probably should.” 

Keith takes a step back, despite every bone in his body that doesn’t want to. “I’ll be around.” 

“You better be,” Lance grins, and then he softens, sliding his hands back into his pockets. “Safe travels, mullet.”

Keith’s hair hardly qualifies as a mullet anymore, but he finds himself smiling again anyway, before turning and picking his way across the rest of the sand to his ship. He’d like to say that he was strong enough not to look back, but he wasn’t. Lance is still smiling when he inevitably does, like he already knew. That only makes it harder when Keith finally climbs into the cockpit and lets the door slide shut. 

His entire body feels too heavy as he lifts off, watching the sand and water rippling in his wake just before he thrusts forward and takes off across the shore. He’s weighed down by the feeling that he’s forgetting something, that he’s leaving something very important behind. Leaving was infinitely easier when he wasn’t attached to anything, when there was nothing for him to look forward to come back to. 

That’s the moment that he realizes he’s just made the biggest mistake of his life. 

He’s turning his ship around before he even realizes what he’s doing. He flies back down to ground level faster than he probably should, and hurtles across the shore to make up the distance he’s already crossed. Lance is easy to spot, and something in Keith’s chest immediately lightens at the sight of him despite leaving barely four minutes ago. He’s only a few yards down the beach where Keith had left him, which implies that he had stayed for a moment after, and the thought of it sends Keith’s stomach back into a frenzy. 

Maybe he gets a bit overzealous, lands the ship a bit earlier than he needed to, but it doesn’t matter. He stumbles down the ramp and nearly trips into the sand, and when he looks up, there’s Lance—staring back at him over his shoulder, eyes wide, mouth hanging open in surprise. Neither of them move for a moment, silent and frozen, and then Keith takes a small, wobbly step forward. 

Lance’s face breaks out into a smile brighter than the sun breaking over the horizon, and suddenly Keith himself is breaking out into a run across the sand, heart pounding and pulse racing as the distance between them grows smaller and smaller—Keith all but flings himself into Lance’s arms, because they’re already open and waiting when he reaches him. Lance is laughing in Keith’s ear, arms warm and solid around his waist as he spins him around once, twice, then lowers him back to the ground but doesn’t let go. 

Keith pulls back only far enough so he can look Lance in the eye, arms still wrapped around his neck. “Come with me,” he breathes. 

Lance kisses like he does everything else: gently, and softly, but with so much intention it makes Keith physically melt against him, leaning into every touch, every movement. He kisses him like that’s exactly what he’d been hoping Keith would say, almost like— 

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask, you moron,” Lance says when they finally break apart, eyes bright and smile impossibly brighter. 

“I didn’t know if you’d say yes,” Keith mutters, already leaning back in for another kiss. “You can’t blame me for being cautious.”

“Keith Kogane? Cautious?” Lance teases, obligingly meeting him halfway for a quick, chaste kiss. “Never.” 

“Only for the important things,” Keith counters, knowing full well that it’ll earn him another kiss and smiling when Lance leans down to give it to him.

Maybe they’re late to rendezvous with the rest of the Blade for a multitude of reasons; because of their trip back to Lance’s house to pack his things and say proper goodbyes to his family with a promise to come home every second that he’s able, a quick phone call to officially turn down the Garrison’s offer, another to both Adam and Shiro, and all of the kisses in between. Keith can’t find it in himself to care, not while he’s running hand-in-hand with Lance across the shore back to his ship, both of them laughing and smiling the whole way. 

And this time, when they take off together, it doesn’t quite feel like leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.thespacenico.tumblr.com)!  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thespacenico/)!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thespacenico)!  
> and some art for this ahh!! [here](https://www.instagram.com/p/B3C9rCXgLha/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link) and [here](https://www.instagram.com/p/B3Cl6aiAIjP/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link)!


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